


Clyde Logan Prompts

by crimsoncomradeposts



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Breeding, Breeding Kink, Cock Warming, Daddy Kink, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Masturbation, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 54
Words: 21,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24388270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Summary: A collection of short Clyde Logan prompts.
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 105





	1. Give Me Attention

**Author's Note:**

> These are short prompts posted over on my [tumblr](https://direnightshade.tumblr.com/).

You can see it, the way Clyde’s bottom lip is pushed out into a pout, luke-warm coffee cup held in his hand while you stretch out on the couch with your feet in his lap. You’ve been pickin’ up on that look’a his for the better part of ten minutes now, your gaze flickering up over the top of the book in your hand, a smile hidden behind the pages; can feel it too, the way his prosthetic grazes along your shin, giving gentle caresses also meant to take your attention away from your story.

“What’s all this poutin’ you’ve got goin’ on,” you ask, your toes gently nudging the inside of his thigh. There’s a soft grumble on his part, and you know he’s not answerin’ straight away because he doesn’t particularly care for bein’ like this, doesn’t like bein’ all needy ‘n’ clingy while you’re doin’ somethin’ y’like, like readin’ your book. “C’mon, tell me.” Again, you nudge him with your foot, settin’ the book down onto your stomach when you do so.

“I just,” he starts, pausin’ to huff out a breath, the pout makin’ another appearance before he’s speakin’ yet again. “Give me attention.” There’s a moment of silence, and quickly, he’s scramblin’ t’ make it sound less like a demand ‘n’ more of a request. “It’s just that you’ve been readin’ that book all mornin’, ‘n’ I’d like it if I could have some’a your time before I got t’ be headin’ off for the bar ‘s’all.”

You smile, sitting up almost instantly, the book closed and forgotten as you discard it onto the coffee table, reaching for his cup of coffee to do the same. Once both items are safely deposited elsewhere, you climb up onto his lap and straddle him, your arms looping around his neck. “All’s y’had to do was ask,” you say softly, leaning in to press a kiss to that pouty mouth of his. “I’ll happily give you my time.”

Clyde’s arms wind around your middle to pull you closer to him, the pout now finally shifting into a smile of his own. “You’re too good to me,” he says, leaning in to steal another kiss for himself. You laugh at that, ‘n’ he can’t help but smile wider at the sound. He lives for moments like this, holdin’ you in the early mornin’ hours of a new day, makin’ you laugh ‘n’ smile while he deposits kiss after kiss. He reckons that if it’ll come to this every time, maybe he’ll be askin’ for your attention more often.


	2. Improper Thoughts

Sunday nights at the drive-in are typically a slow affair, what with people workin’ or goin’ t’ school in the mornin’. But the Duck Tape is closed on Sundays, which means that those nights are reserved for you ‘n’ only you, and tonight you ‘n’ Clyde have found yourself parked in the back lane of one of the lots of the drive-in, some obscure movie playin’ on screen.

You’re thankful for the lack of people here tonight, ‘n’ even more thankful that Clyde had the foresight t’ park in the back, the ‘76 Pontiac Grand Prix tucked away near the treeline. The familiar clack of metal sounds when the fingers of Clyde’s mechanical prosthetic flex against your back, his right hand cuppin’ the back of your neck t’ hold y’ in place while his lips slant across your own.

He’s eagerly swallowin’ up every soft sigh and moan you give him when your hips roll over his, seeking friction against the denim of his jeans, his own groans seeping into the kiss at the sensation. It isn’t until you’re pryin’ yourself away from him t’ catch your breath that your eyes open, ‘n’ his do too. “What’s on your mind,” you whisper to him.

The question elicits a smile from him, and with a brief chuckle, he responds, the flicker of the light of the movie bouncin’ off his features when he does so. “You.”

Your hands cup his face, thumbs sweepin’ across his angular cheekbones. “What about me?”

His own thumb traces the curve of your hip bone, pressin’ gently into the fabric of your outfit. “How much time have y’ got?” There’s another chuckle on his end, and you huff a laugh at that.

“Pick one thought,” you counter, fingers slipping down to gently trace your nails against the facial hair that covers his chin. “Make it an _improper_ one,” you tease.

“Darlin’,” he says, head tippin’ to pop a kiss your fingers, “ **each of my thoughts about you is improper**.” You lean in then, lips returnin’ to his.

You don’t need him to elaborate, he’ll be doin’ that all on his own soon enough.


	3. I'm Not Jealous!

“I’m not jealous!” The words reverberate throughout the mobile home as the door flings open and you step in, Clyde followin’ close behind.

You can’t help but snort at his words, knowin’ full well that, yes, he was in fact jealous. Still is by the sounds of it. Clyde closes the door, pausing for just a moment to turn and lock it.

“So you’re tellin’ me that it didn’t get y’ all riled up t’ see me dancin’ with him?” It was harmless fun, really. You’d been at the bar, as you so often are, and one of your favorite songs had come on courtesy of the jukebox. You’d wanted t’ dance, but Clyde had been up to his ears in customers. So you’d settled for Earl. After all, where was the harm? Y’all are friends, Earl ‘n’ Clyde especially, so you figured a little dance wouldn’t hurt none.

But, oh, how wrong you’d be.

Clyde had come up fast on the two’a you, practically tearin’ Earl away from you mid-spin and nearly sendin’ him crashin’ to the floor. It’d been an uncharacteristically aggressive move for Clyde, but he couldn’t help himself. Didn’t want t’ see someone else’s hands all over you even if it was a bit of innocent fun.

“ **I’m not jealous** ,” he exclaims again when he whirls back around t’ face you. You can see it now, how bothered he is, his face reddened with how flustered he feels. “It’s just …” He huffs, lips pouting briefly while his eyes avoid yours momentarily. “ **It’s just, you’re all mine**!”

Clyde’s gaze shifts back to you when you take a step towards him, the corners of your lips curling up into a sly smirk. “You’re right,” you say, hands runnin’ up along his broad chest once you’re close enough t’ reach out ‘n’ touch him. “I _am_ all yours.”

With quick movements, he’s spinnin’ y’ around t’ pin you against the door, prosthetic at your waist while his other hand glides up along your bare thigh. “Y’are,” he says, reiterating his statement as his fingers disappear beneath the hemline of your sundress. He loves the way your breath hitches, hips pushin’ forward to chase his touch while your back’s pressin’ up against the door, also loves the way your hands ‘r’ slippin’ into his hair to pull his face closer t’ yours.

“ _Please_ ,” you whisper, desperate to feel him any way that you can.

But Clyde’s hand ceases its movement the moment he reaches the inside of your thigh. Fingertips graze along the slick there and he swears he could cum right then ‘n’ there at the realization that “ **You’re n-not, uh, w-wearing anything under that, are you…?** ”

He watches as you capture your bottom lip between your teeth, head shakin’ from side t’ side in what will be your only response to the question. You can see the way Clyde’s face flutters between micro-expressions of desire, flustered, ‘n’ back to the desire yet again. But it isn’t until you’re tuggin’ his face closer t’ yours again that he’s snappin’ out of it, fingers now dancin’ along your cunt, and … “Fuck, darlin’,” he breathes against your lips, “your so wet for me.”

“Have been ever since y’ pulled me away from Earl,” you admit, hips still movin’ against his fingers. He swallows up the moan that escapes you when he finally gives you what you want, two fingers slippin’ into you, stretchin’ you ‘n’ fillin’ y’ up.

No, it ain’t often that your Clyde gets possessive like he had tonight, but when the evenin’ ends like it is now, how can you complain?


	4. Kiss Me

“Kiss me.”

Clyde nearly drops the glass he’s holdin’ in his hands, his eyes liftin’ to look at you from across the wooden bar top, brows furrowing slightly. Had he … had he heard y’ correctly? “Come again?”

The corners of your lips twitch up only slightly, the beginnings of a smile playing on your mouth. “Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable.”

He nods, settin’ the clean glass down in its designated spot, the palm of his right hand now settlin’ against the bar top. “That they do.”

“You see that guy over there,” you nod discreetly to your right, ‘n’ Clyde’s gaze sweeps over to the man in question, givin’ you a brief nod when his attention returns t’ you. “He’s been starin’ at me the better part of my time in here ‘n’ I need a reason t’ get his attentions elsewhere. Preferably off me. So …”

“So y’ want me t’ kiss you,” Clyde says, followin’ where this is headed.

You nod, and he can feel heat bloomin’ across his face, no doubt his cheeks reddenin’ at the proposition. He doesn’t fancy himself the type t’ go along with this kind’a nonsense. He’d much rather just throw the guy out, but the way you’re lookin’ at him now, how could he possibly say no?

Clyde nods, and in an instant you’re pushin’ yourself up and out’a the stool, hand reachin’ for his grey button-down t’ pull him halfway over the counter as you lean in to meet him. He’s lettin’ you take the lead when your lips slant across his own, his eyes closin’ to revel in the softness of your mouth. A part of him wonders if it’s workin’, if the man’s goin’ away, but another, larger, part of him doesn’t care much. He likes this. Likes you. Even if y’ are nothin’ more than a passer by, though he’s hopin’ like hell you won’t be roamin’ too far from Boone County.

When you finally do part ‘n’ his eyes open, he finds you staring up at him with a smile, your faces still so, so close.

The man’s long since moved on as anticipated, leavin’ just the two’a you alone in the bar. Clyde’s thankful it’s a slow night, ‘n’ so are you. It leaves you with plenty’a time t’ get to know one another, all things considered.


	5. I Wouldn't Change A Thing

Clyde’s never fancied himself much of a man with a lot’a insecurities. Not even after the roadside bomb in Iraq altered his life drastically did he think much of his new appearance. He’d counted himself lucky. After all, there were plenty of others who made it out with far less, and even more who never made it out alive at all. But every now ‘n’ again, Clyde gets that anxious feelin’, the one that make him so self conscious of his arm (or lack thereof).

You can always tell when the mood strikes him. He prefers to keep his arm hidden behind the bar, favorin’ the right one always ‘n’ only liftin’ the left when absolutely necessary. Or in moments like the one you’re experiencin’ now, the two’a you in bed, his arm curled around you, hand splayed across your lower back whilst he keeps the left arm hidden beneath the covers. Your head’s propped up against his chest, fingertips dancin’ along his arm. His muscles twitch beneath the touch, and you can feel the way his whole body tenses when you near the edge of the comforter.

“Clyde,” you say softly, a small huff escapin’ him in response. He says nothin’, instead castin’ his eyes up towards the ceiling of the mobile home while your fingers continue their path downward. Soon enough, he’s feelin’ you push away the comforter to reveal his arm.

He hates when he gets like this. Hates feelin’ inadequate, insecure, ‘n’ everythin’ in between. But you, no, you never seem that way do you?

“ **I wouldn’t change a thing about you**.” Your words are merely a whisper, but he still hears them all the same. He swallows harshly, eyes closing when he feels your hand curl around the end of his forearm. “I mean that, Clyde. I love everythin’ about you, even the parts’a you that you don’t even love yourself.”

He inhales a shaky breath at that, feelin’ mighty choked up at your words. Clyde doesn’t know what he’s done t’ deserve you, but as you set about deliverin’ tender kiss after kiss to his chest, he can’t help but be thankful that he’s got y’in his life. ‘N’ he don’t ever plan t’ let you go.


	6. The Proposal

The early summer breeze blows gently through the valley, rustlin’ the hem of your dress ‘n’ tousling strands of your hair. Your eyes are cast upward towards the sky as you and Clyde lie side by side, your hand held in his, fingers laced together while the two of you watch the clouds pass by overhead.

“‘S’a dog,” Clyde says, and you squint, head angling to the side slightly as you attempt to envision what he’s seeing. He can hear y’ hummin’ in thought, knows you’re not seein’ it, ‘n’ he thinks that’s fine. That’s the point of cloudgazin’ isn’t it? T’ look at things objectively.

You sigh, and he smiles at the sound. “Think you need your eyes checked. That there ain’t no dog.” He scoffs at that, ‘n’ it’s your turn to smile now. “It’s an old lady in a rockin’ chair.”

Now _that_ gets his attention. He’s up in a matter’a seconds, hand releasin’ your own as he turns his body to half-hover over you. “Are y’ messin’ with me?” The disbelief is evident in his voice, and you nearly crack right then ‘n’ there. But by some miracle, you’re able to keep that composure of yours, feignin’ like you haven’t got the faintest clue at what he’s gettin’ at. When your head shakes, his brows furrow and he’s bitin’ at the inside of his lips before he’s speakin’ again. “That up there ain’t no gran’ma.”

“Old lady,” you correct, and oh, how you nearly let a laugh out then ‘n’ there.

“Same damn thing.” He’s not mad. Not really. But like you, he gives as good as he gets, ‘n’ boy are the two’a you givin’ it to each other. He likes this, though, ‘n’ you do to; the two’a you teasin’ each other in ways that only you and Clyde can do.

Clyde rolls further until he’s fully hoverin’ over you now, his face dippin’ down into the crook of your neck, lips pressing tender kisses to the skin there. You laugh, your hands liftin’ to grab his hair, ‘n’ he wants nothin’ more than to bottle moments like these up; bottle ‘em up ‘n’ keep him all to himself, keep those memories and those sounds you make close to reflect back on in times he finds himself alone.

“Do you ever think about what you’ll be doin’ when you’re old ‘n’ gray,” you ask when the laughter fades and Clyde’s liftin’ his face away from your neck. He takes a moment to think, _really think_ , about what you’re askin’ him.

He leans into your touch when one’a your hands moves to smooth the hair away from his face, fingers tuckin’ strands behind his ears. After a quiet moment, he nods. “Might not know what I’ll be doin’, but …” There he goes again, worryin’ those lips’a his. “Know whatever it is, I’ll be doin’ it with you.”

A broad smile stretches across your face, ‘n’ he feels his heart skippin’ a beat at the expression. “Bold of you to assume I’ll still be here,” you tease, a finger lifting to gently tap against the tip of his nose.

“Won’t you?” It’s simple, those two words, but so full of hope.

You nod. Of course you will be. There’s nowhere ‘n’ no one else you’d rather be with. “I will.”

The flood of warmth that Clyde feels is wholly indescribable in this moment, ‘n’ the words that leave him next have been a long time comin’. “Marry me.”

It’s a statement, but also, a question. The choice, of course, is yours, but he knows what he wants, has for a long, long time. Knew it the first week he’d met you. Still knows it now. In fact, he’s never been so sure of anythin’ in his whole life.

You respond in no time flat, not wantin’ to allow a second of doubt to creep into that mind’a his. “Yes,” you say softly, the word nearly carried away with the warm breeze. “Yes, Clyde Logan, I will marry you.”

It isn’t a traditional proposal by any means, but here in the heart of the West Virginia hills, surrounded by the sights, smells, and sounds of the valley, it is quintessential Clyde. It is perfect.


	7. You're Not Unloveable

Your elbow is set against the wooden bartop, cheek restin’ against your palm while your free hand picks idly at the label of the beer Clyde’d just handed to you moments prior. He can hear the way you’re huffin’ ‘n’ sighin’ your distress and it’s killin’ him t’ see you like this. “Can you believe it,” you ask him, causing his gaze to sweep over to where you’re sittin’, brows raising in question, though he says nothing in response. ‘Course he doesn’t. He knows what you’re askin’ is rhetorical. Y’ just need to vent your frustration with the situation, ‘n’ he’s the best listener of all your friends. So he does just that. He listens.

“I mean, six months, Clyde. I wasted six months’a my life on someone who couldn’t even be bothered to give me the courtesy’a breakin’ up with me to my own face!” There it is again, the louder’n necessary huff, and soon enough, you’re sitting back and bringing the bottle to your mouth to take a long pull of the hoppy liquid. “I’m unloveable,” you say with a defeated sigh when you finally lower the bottle back to the counter top.

“ **You are not unlovable**.” There’s a sudden frustration tinging his response, ‘n’ he can feel his ears burnin’ when your brows lift, because you notice. Of course you do. He watches now while you lean in, bottle forgotten as your forearms rest against the bar top.

“ _ **Bullshit**_ ,” you counter, emphasizin’ the ‘t’ when you do so. “ **Who could ever love me**?”

There’s a challenge there, one that he wants to meet so desperately. But would you want him to? He thinks the look in your eye is pleadin’ with him t’ do so, but his own insecurities are screamin’ at him t’ just drop it; just let it go ‘n’ just listen like he’d been doin’ all night.

But he can’t let it go. Can’t just drop it ‘cause now’s his chance.

“ ** _I_ could**.” Those are the only words he’s able to get out straight away, the others stuck in his throat now, swallowin’ thickly around them while his cheeks now carry the same heat that his ears had only a moment prior. “ **I _do_ , in fact**.”

There they are, the words he’s been longin’ t’ tell you for so long now. They hang there in the air, settling over the two’a you weighted blanket. He thinks, for a moment, that he’s made a mistake. But then you’re smilin’ at him, ‘n’ golly, if that just don’t steal the breath straight outta his lungs.

“Y’ do,” you ask, ‘n’ he’d be a fool to miss the hopeful note to your voice.

He nods, his own lips quirking into a slight smile. “I do.” He has, for a long, long time.


	8. Don't Touch What's Not Yours

Clyde likes t’ pride himself on bein’ a pretty laid back fella. There ain’t much that pushes him over the edge these days, but if he’s got one rule in his bar (or anywhere, if he’s bein’ honest), it’s that no one, and he means _no one_ , disrespect you. By now all the locals have gotten used t’ you spendin’ your nights in the bar, you ‘n’ Clyde makin’ eyes at each other ‘n’ flirtin’ whenever he’s not dealing with customers. It’d become apparent rather quickly that the two’a you had somethin’ goin’ on.

But every now ‘n’ again you’ll get a straggler from out of town who comes blowin’ in, and it’s nights like tonight that’s got Clyde’s protective side comin’ out.

“Pretty sure I said beat it,” you say to the stranger to your right who’s not takin’ no for an answer. Clyde’s gaze flickers over from where he’s pourin’ a drink for another patron, making sure never to stray too far. Not now. Not while he thinks there may be cause for intervention. He knows well enough that you’re perfectly capable of handlin’ yourself, but that don’t mean he can’t keep a watchful eye ‘n’ step in when idiots aren’t takin’ your ~~not so subtle~~ hints.

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart.” You can smell the alcohol on his breath as he leans in a little too close for comfort.

A few seats down, Jimmy snorts, and your gaze shifts to him just as he lifts his pint glass to his mouth. “I wouldn’t do what you’re about t’ do,” he says, eyes starin’ up at the television overhead.

The man pays him no mind, of course, and it’s this next move that will set Clyde’s temper alight. A firm hand wraps around your forearm, and he’s yankin’ you towards him, eliciting a yelp of surprise from you. A nervous gaze shifts to where Clyde had been only a moment ago, but your man’s already on the move, and in a flash he’s at your side, pullin’ the man off you.

“ **Don’t fucking touch what’s not yours** ,” Clyde spits out angrily, effortlessly lifting the man from his stool and tuggin’ him out the door.

There’s a bout of yellin’ outside, but the second you’re up and out of your seat, the door’s swingin’ back open violently to reveal a still heated Clyde. Heavy footfalls carry him forward towards you, his hand reaching out to take your own when he nears you before he’s callin’ out for his brother. “Jimmy, mind the bar!”

It’s rare that Clyde gets this angry, but Jimmy knows in moments like these, it’s best not to give him the mouth, so he says nothin, just keeps on sippin’ his beer while Clyde leads you towards the back where his office is.

The second you two are inside, Clyde’s checkin’ you over, makin’ sure you’re alright. It takes some reassurance on your part, but soon enough, his anger subsides just enough to where his mind’s not so muddied. “Y’know I’d never let anythin’ happen to you, right? I’d never let anyone hurt you,” he says. “No one touches what’s mine. _No one_ touches you but _me_.”

The breath that you inhale hitches in your throat, and in seconds, the two of you are lunging for one another, Clyde turnin’ you t’ press your back up against the cold metal door of his office. You can hear the metallic click of his prosthetic as both hands move down to cup the backs of your thighs, lifting you up into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as your lips meet. The kiss is all lips, tongue, and teeth, but soon enough, you’re pulled briefly out of your lustful haze when you hear Clyde inhale sharply. “The chair,” you say breathlessly, directing him to sit down.

As much as you enjoy being in his arms like this, you know it isn’t comfortable, not with his prosthetic on. He does as he’s told, wasting no time to drop down into the seat with you in his lap. Your hands make quick work of his belt and his pants, undoing them in no time at all as Clyde brings his lips back to yours. He’s nipping at your bottom lip when you free his cock, your hand working the length of him and causing him to groan, releasing your lip to tip his head back.

It’s only when your hand ceases its movement that Clyde lifts his head up again to look at you, face flushed and lips parted. “What’re you—”

Sliding off his lap briefly, your hands disappear under the hem of your dress, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties before you pull them down and kick them off. Returning to him, straddling his lap once again, your hands lift to slip your fingers into his hair. “You said no one touches me but you, right?” He nods, his right hand already gliding up along the top of your thigh, fingers beginning to disappear beneath your dress. “Well go on then,” you urge, “ _touch me_.”


	9. Just Friends

The familiar creak of the door’s hinges alerts Clyde to a new customer. He turns his head, as he so often does, to get a look at his would-be patron, but what he spots causes the hand that’s cleanin’ the glass he’s holdin’ to pause mid-swipe. It’s you. But then another walks in behind you ‘n’ … no.

Mellie’s gaze catches his almost immediately upon enterin’, and he can feel the tips of his ears and apples of his cheeks reddening as she all but smirks at him. She’s up t’ no good. He knows it. She knows it. He wonders if you know it too.

Setting aside the glass in its designated space beneath the bar, he does the same with the cloth he’d used to clean it before setting his hands atop the bar, the metal of his newest prosthetic clacking against the wood. You’re walkin’ towards him now while Mellie hangs behind at one of the far off bar-height tables, ‘n’ he swears he can feel his heart skip a beat when you throw a smile his way.

“Hi, Clyde.” It’s effortless, he thinks to himself, the way you slide into the stool in front of him, your own hands settling atop the bar’s counter top. Your hands are so close now, ‘n’ he’s wonderin’ if he just reaches for you now, would you let him take yours in his? The thought causes the familiar heat in his cheek to worsen, and to save face, he turns to act as if he’s reachin’ for a glass.

“Evenin’, darlin’. What can I get y’ tonight?” Oh, how that term of endearment sends a flutter of warmth straight through to your heart. You’ve begun to notice, the more time that you spend here, sharin’ stories and just shootin’ the breeze, that this is a term Clyde seems to reserve only for you.

Only when he turns back around, glass in hand, do you reply. “We don’t need nothin’ fancy tonight, Clyde. Just two beers, please.”

The left corner of his mouth twitches up slightly, and he nods in acknowledgement of your request, abandoning the glass he’d retrieved in order to get you those beers. He pops the tops off with ease and sets the bottles onto the counter in front of you, hands once again settling atop the wooden counter top. With a smile, you reach out with a hand of your own and place it gently atop the cool metal of his prosthetic, and oh, what a cruel twist of fate this is. He’d spent so long pinin’ after you, longin’ for your touch, and to think this is as close as he may ever get … Well, that causes an ache to settle deep in his chest.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your hand lingering on the bionic hand for a moment longer, hopin’, prayin’ that he’ll make a move. When he doesn’t, you slide off the stool and grab the bottles, giving him a quick smile before movin’ back to the table that Mellie’s set up for the two’a you.

“The hell was that?” Mellie’s got one hand on her hip, head cocked to the side with a look of disbelief. When all you respond with is a shrug and a furrow of your brows, she scoffs in dramatic fashion, pushin’ forward like only Mellie can. “There somethin’ goin’ on with the two of you?”

That makes you snort just as you lift the bottle up to your lips, head shaking briefly before you take a sip of your beer. “No. We’re just friends.” There’s something about those three little words that pains you. Perhaps, if you’re honest with yourself, you’d always been hopin’ for somethin’ a little more with Clyde.

But Mellie can sense it. Same way she can sense that Clyde’s been feelin’ the same. “I’ve seen that boy almost break his neck to look at you because you were laughin’ on the other side of the room and he wanted to see you smile, but sure, you’re just friends.”

She can’t help but smile to herself, her own bottle now lifted up to take a drink while your head swivels to look over at Clyde, surprised to find that he’s already lookin’ at you. A smile forms when you note the subtle way that Clyde’s eyes widen when you catch him, but soon enough, he’s returnin’ the expression.

Maybe Mellie’s not far off, you think to yourself, feelin’ the tiniest flicker of hope reignitin’ inside’a you. This isn’t the first time you’d caught him lookin’, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. Maybe this, whatever this is, is worth explorin’.


	10. Stay. Please.

Lightnin’ shoots through the sky, lighting up the rolling West Virginia hills with a bluish glow while the crack of thunder follows close behind. Even with the torrent of rain that falls from the heavens now, you can hear the sharp intake of air as Clyde inhales.

He knows he should have got goin’ before the weather turned, but he’s always got such trouble leavin’ you, even more so after the two’a you are lyin’ with limbs tangled in your bed. You can feel the way his bicep twitches beneath your rib cage, know that he’s debatin’ what he should do.

“ **Stay. Please** ,” you whisper to him between the roar of the thunder. “ **I can’t sleep.** ” Clyde’s hand tightens just a little on your hip, thumb strokin’ the skin there in a small, reassurin’ gesture.

Another rumble of thunder sounds, closer now, close enough to rattle the windows ‘n’ their frames. You grip Clyde a little tighter, and in return he pulls you impossibly closer. “ **You can sleep** ,” he says, his head turnin’ to press a kiss to your forehead. “ **I’ll keep you safe**.”

Outside the storm rages on, but in here, there is nothin’ that can ruin this perfect little moment between you ‘n’ him. It isn’t long until he feels your body slumpin’ against his own, breathing evenin’ out when sleep finally takes hold, ‘cause you know he’s right, after all. Clyde’ll always keep you safe, storm or otherwise.


	11. Picking Flowers

It ain’t nothin’ but an ordinary Wednesday mornin’, but sometimes, Clyde doesn’t need a reason to be doin’ what he’s doing. Sometimes, he likes bein’ spontaneous in these little ways. Keeps you happy ‘n’ he likes that, likes seein’ y’smile for him when you’re finally wakin’ up, stumblin’ on out to the kitchen for breakfast only to stop short when you spot the vase on the table. It’s full’a wild flowers, ones he’s picked from out back in the nearby field. 

Wild Geraniums, Grey Beardtongues, Foamflowers, ‘n’ Fire Pinks make up the small bouquet in a stunning display of pinks, purples, and whites. No, it ain’t nothin’ but an ordinary Wednesday mornin’, but with the way you’re huggin’ him now and smilin’ up at him with such adoration, well he reckons that maybe today’s a little more special than the others.


	12. Plane Ride

Clyde’s no stranger to a plane, ‘n’ he ain’t much for gettin’ nervous. ‘Whatever will be will be,’ or so he’d said on the drive over to the airport, which of course hadn’t helped _your_ nerves any. But the more you think about it, the more you find that you’re too excited to be nervous. It’s the first vacation you’ve had in a long time, ‘n’ it’s the first time Clyde’s been outta the continental United States since his deployment. The destination is Hawaii, and it’s a first bein’ there for both’a you.

He’d gone all out, which of course you’d protested the second you’d learned about it. Clyde saved up a bunch’a money (’n’ used some’a the money he and Jimmy helped take from the speedway, though you needn’t be burned with that information), bought the two’a you first class tickets there ‘n’ back, and even in spite of your initial complaints, you can’t complain when you’re bein’ handed free drinks ‘n’ snacks and the like. Your man’s just happy he’s got enough leg room to spread out. Another reason he’d chosen these seats. He didn’t want to be stuck in a tiny space like some sardine in a can.

“This is the life,” he murmurs to you with a sly smirk, all too pleased with himself that you’re already as excited as he is and yet this is only the beginnin’ of the trip.

You look over to him and flash him a smile that he swears’ll make his heart stop, your head nodding in response. “Sure is. Careful though, you keep springin’ for seats like these ‘n’ I’ll get used to this lavish lifestyle,” you tease. He laughs at that, and that only serves to make you smile wider. He knows you love him and the simple life you’ve built together, but there ain’t no harm in makin’ this trip a luxurious one. You don’t know it yet, but he’s pulled out all the stops; got the fanciest hotel ‘n’ all the excursions your heart can handle. He’s going to make this trip one to remember for years t’ come, ‘n’ it all starts here on this plane.


	13. Cryin' Shame

Clyde’s real careful with his choice’a words. The last thing he’d ever want t’ do is hurt you in any sort’a way. But it wasn’t his words that’d brought you t’ tears. It was his actions; his stupid, reckless, cauliflower hatin’ but still followin’ through with actions.

Ninety days. He’d gotten ninety days in jail for that little stunt he’d pulled at the convenience store. It was to help the grander plan’a course, but you’d done all you could to talk him out of it, but for once, he’d listened t’ Jimmy ‘n’ not you. He could barely look at you in the courtroom, could hear your sniffles behind him. He reckons if broken hearts are truly a thing, his broke for you then ‘n’ there.

He wasn’t able to make it up to you until after he’d been released’a course. But the second he was a free man, he’d made promises unlike anythin’ he’d ever made before. Gone are the days of Jimmy’s cauliflower nonsense, ‘n’ if he comes’a callin’, Clyde’ll tell him to scram. It doesn’t matter how good ‘n’ organized his robbert to-do list is, he’ll have to find help elsewhere ‘cause Clyde ain’t ever gonna risk losin’ you again.

It takes some convincin’ on his part, of course, but soon enough he’s managed to worm his way back into your good graces. A year ‘n’ a half on he winds up makin’ good on his promise when Jimmy comes knockin’ at the door, talkin’ all sorts’a nonsense about how they could make some real quick cash. He loves his brother, Clyde does, but he loves you just that much more. There ain’t nothin’ worth doin’ that’ll risk what he has with you. Never again.


	14. Washing Clyde's Hair

Clyde reckons there ain’t nothin’ in all’a West Virginia that he enjoys more than the feelin’a your fingers against his scalp while you’re washin’ his hair. The first time you’d done it, the two’a you’d been in Clyde’s trailer, his massive frame bent over the edge of the tub and you strugglin’ to maneuver around in the small space. Even given all the troubles to get the job done, he’d loved it every bit that first time as he does right this second. But now … Oh, now you’re workin’ at Mellie’s salon, ‘n’ there’s no need to have Clyde shoved up under the faucet of the bathtub.

His eyes are closed, lips formin’ just the slightest smile as he reclines back into the faux leather seat, the material creakin’ under his weight while you spray the suds from his hair. He likes this; likes the feelin’ of your fingertips workin’ the shampoo out in tandem with the water, ‘n’ he reckons he likes the feel of the pressurized spray against his scalp too. When you move from one side of the chair to the other, wantin’ to make sure you get all’a the suds, you can’t help but smile when you feel the familiar sensation of his hand creepin’ up the back of your thigh.

“Clyde Logan, if you don’t behave your hair’s not the only thing fixin’ t’ get sprayed,” you tease.

The comment elicits a deep rumble of laughter, and doin’ as he’s told, he pulls his hand away to rest it atop it stomach, utterin’ a ‘yes, ma’am’ when he does so.

He hates when the washin’s done, knows that it means he gets less time spent with your fingers in his hair, ‘n’ he loves that feelin’ too much. It’s why he don’t ever mind comin’ to the salon. He knows after the washin’ comes the dryin’, ‘n’ he’ll get your fingers on his scalp for that too.


	15. Blanket Fort

It’s late when Clyde comes home from the bar, tired ‘n’ ready for a nice long sleep. You can hear the soft click of the door closin’ and the lock turnin’ in place before his heavy footsteps carry him into the living room where the sound halts immediately. You can’t help but smile to yourself, knowing the precise reason for why the halt in his movement. He’s stumbled across you in the dark, the only source of light in the room is your little battery-operated lantern that spills its light out through the opening to the blanket fort that you’ve created in Clyde’s absence.

“What in the world are y’ doin’?” He’s tired, sure, but surely he isn’t seein’ things. Clyde lowers himself down to the ground, palm pressed against the ground while his prosthetic arm pushes open the blankets further to take a peek inside, findin’ you cozied up with book ‘n’ a mound’a pillows.

You hold up your book and give Clyde a smile just as you scoot over to make some room. “Readin’,” you respond simply, your hand patting the empty space created beside you. “Join me?”

It takes him a moment to make his decision, and you watch in silence as his eyes roam the space, internally debatin’ whether or not his lumberin’ frame can fit in here without tearin’ your precious fort to the ground. Eventually, he decides it’s worth a shot, ‘n’ much to his surprise, he makes it in without disturbin’ a single blanket. Once he’s settled, he slips his arm around you and tucks you into his side, turnin’ his head to deposit a tender kiss to your forehead. “So,” he says, eyes now lookin’ down at the pages of your open book, “what’re we readin’ tonight?”


	16. I'll Keep You Warm

The flames of the bonfire lick upward towards the sky sendin’ sparks flyin’ in their wake, and though the fire is large, it’s far too hot to be standin’ too close. But you’re cold, ‘n’ so it’s suffer from the heat or suffer from the cold, and you’ll take your chances with the fire. That is, until, Clyde notices, of course.

He’s watching you clutch the blanket tighter around you while Jimmy’s yappin’ to him about God knows what. He’s long since stopped listenin’, his attention focused solely on you now.

“Hey! Hey, are you even listenin’ t’me?!” Jimmy scoffs when Clyde rises up from his spot on the log, now moving over where you’re standin’.

He reaches for you, pulling you away from the heat to press your back up against his chest. “C’mere,” he says as he draws you close, strong arms wrappin’ around you to hold you to him. “ **I’ll keep you warm** , darlin’” Clyde murmurs into your ear, eyes fixated on the fire in front of the two of you.

Jimmy’s still gripin’, but neither of you are payin’ him any mind. Instead, you leave him to tending to Sadie’s s’mores while the two of you fall into a comfortable silence, listening to the cracklin’ of the fire and enjoying one another’s warmth.


	17. I've Got You

> Bare feet take two steps forward against the dirt before you hesitate and stop. “ _Nononono_ , Clyde, no! I can’t! I can’t do this, I just _can’t_.” Despite your protests, you’re laughing practically damn near hysterically, both your hands holding tightly to a rope that’s securely (you hope) tied to a thick branch of a tree that juts out over the river.

> “Just _do it_ ,” yells Jimmy, his hands cupped around his mouth to egg you on.

> “C’mon!” Mellie’s followin’ up now with her own taunts. “Get in the water!”

> But it’s not the water that concerns you. It’s the jump itself, and the fact that you think the water’s too shallow. You’ll break a leg, you’re convinced of it, even if you’ve already seen all three of the Logans do it themselves. Clyde wades closer to where you’ll be jumpin’ into the water, waving his hand for you to come to him. “I told you I wasn’t gonna let nothin’ hurt you, didn’t I?” He watches as you nod your head, the look of apprehension still on your face. “ **I’ve got you**. You ain’t got nothin’ t’worry ‘bout. I’ll catch ya.”

> Inhaling a deep breath, you steady yourself before taking a few steps back to allow yourself enough room for a running start. Only then do you launch yourself forward, soon swinging yourself up off the ground with the help of the rope, screaming as you let go and plunge down towards the water. Just as he promised, Clyde’s there to catch you, doing so just as you hit the water, both Jimmy and Mellie cheerin’ you on. “See,” he says, “ **I’ve got you**.”


	18. You Shouldn't Tease Me

A feather light touch can be felt skimming along the lower portion of Clyde’s back as you step around him, fingertips barely catching on his shirt to alert him of your presence. He’s standing at the stove, careful to keep a watchful eye on both you and the bacon that’s currently sizzling angrily in the pan. When you pass him again, your hand grazes along his ass this time, a playful smirk tugging at your lips when you do so, hearing him huff out a breath as he looks away from the pan and over to you.

“ **Oh, honey, you know you really shouldn’t tease me**.” He’d been putting up with these touches ever since the two of you’d started cooking breakfast, and now he’s started to reach his breaking point.

“I have _no_ idea what you’re talkin’ about,” you reply, quickly shifting that smirk of yours into an innocent smile. Reaching up, you pull the dish towel down from your shoulder and wind it up between your hands. Clyde knows exactly where this is headed, but he’s still going to let you do it. You snap the towel at him, the tip just barely hitting against his shorts. You wiggle your brows playfully just as he reaches to turn off the stove, leaving the bacon to sit in the pan as he turns to you.

“ **You’re in trouble now** ,” he says, lunging at you with a grin.

A shriek escapes you when he dips down to wrap his arms around your legs, lifting you up with ease to toss you up onto his shoulder. He strides quickly through the small hall, keeping his grip on you, now making his way into the bedroom to drop you down onto the bed.

It’s a flurry of clothes as you both tear garments from one another, throwing them this way and that, the pieces landing haphazardly across the room. Clyde’s lips meet your own whilst his hand reaches down to part your legs to allow him the room to settle between them. You gasp into his mouth when you feel the head of his cock brush along your already wet cunt, and he responds in kind with a soft groan. Just as your leg lifts to hitch over his hip, he presses his hips forward to begin inching into you at an agonizingly slow pace.

Clyde huffs out a breath, and your back arches, jaw slack at the feeling of him slipping further into you until he’s buried to the hilt, his hips stilling momentarily. “Clyde,” you moan, rolling your hips up towards his own in a plea to get him to move.

Drawing his hips back, Clyde stops only once he’s nearly pulled entirely out of you before thrusting forward, hips snapping into your own with a rough push. Your arms lift to wrap around those broad shoulders of his, nails digging into the skin of his back to brace yourself as he sets a quick, punishing pace. You’re so used to Clyde’s gentle nature, but you relish in moments like these; the ones where he gets so lost in you that he can’t help but come undone, the very ones where he’s chanting your name like a prayer, much like he is now.


	19. You're In Love With Her

Wind sweeps through the valley, ruffling Clyde’s hair as Jimmy’s fingers grip the brim of his ball cap to adjust it atop his head. You’re standin’ across the way with Mellie and Sadie, laughin’ at something the youngest Logan’s said, the sound carrying over to where the brothers are standin’. Clyde smiles as he watches you, a look of sheer reverence taking hold. Jimmy huffs an amused breath through his nose, a hum accompanying it, and that captures Clyde’s attention.

“What,” he asks, head turnin’ to look at his brother. Jimmy shrugs, avertin’ his eyes as he takes a swig of his beer, the bottle dangling from his fingers as he holds the bottle loosely.

“ **You’re in love with her**.” Only then does Jimmy look at Clyde who’s scowlin’ now. “’S’okay. Not hard t’miss. Mellie’s seen it. I do too. Hell, there ain’t a got’damn person in all’a Boone County that can miss that look on your face.”

It’s Clyde’s turn to huff now, but when his head turns again, gaze searching for yours, he finds that you’re already lookin’ at him with that big ol’ grin’a yours. You wave to him, and he happily returns the gesture, eyes rolling when Jimmy joins in. But when he hears you laughin’ again, he thinks may Jimmy ain’t too far off the mark. He does love you. Has for a long, long time.


	20. Meet Cute

“Shoot!” The exclamation pulls Clyde’s attention up from the rack of chips he’s standing in front of, his gaze wandering towards the sound. “How much did you say it was again?”

He watches as the cashier lets out an exasperated sigh while you attempt to count through the change in your palm. “Buck fifty-nine. You got the buck, just need the fifty-nine.” There’s an air of annoyance to their tone that doesn’t sit right with Clyde. Then again, he’d never been much for someone mouthin’ off like that, doesn’t matter who it’s towards.

But especially not to you. Not when you’re doin’ your best to count the change in your palm.

“Would you take forty-five? It’s so close, what’s a couple pennies?”

“It ain’t pennies,” counters the cashier. “You still owe fourteen cents.”

Clyde huffs out a breath through his nose, abandoning the chips to approach the counter while simultaneously digging his hand through his pocket to pull out some change. Quickly doing a count of what he’s pulled up, he reaches around your to set it down onto the counter. “That ought’a cover it,” he says, butting into the conversation.

Your gaze shifts from the cashier to Clyde, and the upset expression you’d been donning only a moment ago now softens considerably. “Thank you.”

Clyde nods in acknowledgement, and rather than let this opportunity go to waste, he figures he’ll put himself out there just this once. “If you’re in town for a while, you’re welcome t’stop by ‘n’ grab yourself a drink at the Duck Tape. On the house a’course.”

You smile at that, the cashier long since forgotten as you turn more to face Clyde. “Oh, I’ll be here for a while. Don’t intend on bein’ anywhere else for the foreseeable future. But I do intend on takin’ you up on that offer of yours,” you reply, the response making Clyde smile.


	21. In Love With You

The pad of your thumb grazes along the skin covering Clyde’s cheekbone, a smile forming as you watch him lean into the touch. Like all other nights before, he’d seen to it that he walked you home after he closed up the bar. There had been plenty of moments before that were much like this one; you touchin’ Clyde’s face, Clyde touchin’ yours. Gentle words and even gentler touches, and yet neither of you had made the attempt to take things a step further. That is, until, right this very second.

You lean in, rising up onto your toes to reach his height as your mouth slants across his own. It takes his mind a moment to catch up with what’s happening, but soon enough, you’re feeling Clyde’s hand splaying across your lower back to draw you closer to him, his mouth moving against your own in a tender kiss. When you pull back, you can see even in the soft yellow glow of your porch light that there’s a faint red hue tinting his cheeks.

“ **Is there a reason you’re blushing like that** ,” you tease, the smile still on full display.

He knows your teasing, but he can’t seem to crack a smile. No, his expression is a serious one, because to him, this here’s a serious matter. You can tell by the look that he gives you, that he’s mulling over what he wants to say and how he wants to say it. Finally, after a long stretch of silence, he gives his reply. “ **I think I’m in love with you**.”

The words punch the air straight out of your lungs, leaving you breathless. But you don’t dare pull away from his grasp, instead, you lean in again, gifting him another kiss. Only when you pull back again do you speak. “I think I’m in love with you too, Clyde Logan.”


	22. We're In Public

A quick peck to your lips pulls your attention away from the book in your hands, eliciting a sigh as you lift your head to find Clyde already on the opposite end of the bar from you. “Would you quit,” you say teasingly, holding your book up as if to signal that you’re busy. “Can’t you see I’m tryin’ to read here?” You’re smiling at him regardless, and though you’re pretendin’ to be annoyed, you’re not, not really.

How could you be when he’s always showin’ you so much affection like this. He’d been doing this all night, givin’ you a peck here and there any time he’s in your immediate vicinity. He wouldn’t normally be like this, not when the bar’s jam packed, but today’s an unusually slow night, and only Earl and Jimmy’s sittin’ at the bar currently.

Clyde flashes you a smile that makes your heart leap, and somewhere nearby you hear Jimmy gag, which makes both you and Clyde smile even wider at one another. “And might I remind you,” you say, lowering the book back down into your lap, “ **we’re in public, you know**.”

“Oh, darlin’, I’m fully aware’a where we are. Speakin’a which, Jimmy,” he says, shifting his gaze to his brother. “Would y’mind watchin’ the bar for me while I step away a minute?”

“Why,” you pipe up, book now closed and long since forgotten about. “I’m plenty capable. I can’t watch the bar for you.”

Clyde shifts his gaze over from Jimmy to you, his head shakin’. “No y’can’t. Need y’to come with me. Got somethin’ in the back I wanna show you.”

Jimmy exhales a loud, over dramatized groan, his hands motioning to the half full glass of beer in front of him. “C’mon, Clyde! In front of my beer?!”

But Clyde’s no longer listenin’, now halfway steppin’ out from behind the bar. You’re quick to follow as he leads you back to his small office with every intention of bendin’ you over that desk of his.


	23. Time Flies

You’ve been waiting all winter for a day like today. Now that spring is finally here, so are the warmer, sunnier days. It’s finally Sunday, which means that the Duck Tape’s closed for the day and Clyde’s all yours. He’d promised you a little outing, nothing special, just the two of you takin’ a stroll through the park. But you’d wanted to make it special, wanted to make a thing out of it even though Clyde said you really didn’t need have to.

But he likes it, really. Likes it that you’ve got your little wicker basket and blanket slung around your arm and your other hand in his. Likes that he can feel your fingers laced with his, holdin’ onto him right as the two of you walk through the park, making your way towards the large pond. It’s a nice day out today, and even so, the park is empty, save for the two of you. It’s nice though, you think — nice that the two of you will have your lunch interrupted, nice that it’ll be just the two of you soaking up the sun.

“Has it really been a whole year,” you ask in disbelief as Clyde gently takes the blanket from you. He chuckles, shaking it out before setting it down onto the ground, making sure it’s completely spread out before the two of you take a seat.

He nods, taking a seat beside you, watching while you open up the basket to take out the lunch you’d packed. Truthfully, he can’t believe the two of you’ve been together that long too. Feels like yesterday you’d walked into the Duck Tape and captured his heart right on the spot. But here you were later a year later, still lovin’ him just as strongly. “ **I guess time flies when you’re with somebody you love.** ”


	24. Clyde's Hobby

“Now, tell me, what is this again?” You’re leaning over the edge of Clyde’s most prized possession: his all black 1956 Ford F100, a hand pointing a finger towards what exactly you’re asking about. You must have asked about this one particular part about a dozen times, but never once does Clyde get bothered by it. He likes that you’re here askin’ questions, even though he knows good ‘n’ well that you’d rather be anywhere else with him.

Cars had never been much of your thing. You like admiring them, sure, but anything further than that was over your head and out of your realm of interests. But Clyde had grown up around cars, helped Jimmy and their dad work on ‘em all day long, so he’s as knowledgeable as they come. 

Which, is why he’d been savin’ his money for some time now to buy this little gem. “Carburetor,” he says, gaze flickering up to you from across the truck, a bead of sweat dripping down along the side of his face to dangle just off his jaw before falling down onto a piece of metal. “Mixes the air ‘n’ the fuel for—“

“Proper air to fuel ratio for combustion, I know, I know,” you quip with a playful roll of your eyes. He knows you may not enjoy this, watching him build up his truck from the ground up, but he also knows that you do it because you love him, and he loves you all the more for it.


	25. Who Did This? / You're Perfect. / I Love Kissing You

**#12** _\- “Who did this? Who hurt you?”_

> If there’s one thing on this Earth that he simply cannot and will not be okay with, it’s you bein’ hurt, _especially_ at the hands of someone else. “ **Who did this? Who hurt you** ,” he’ll ask with panicked eyes and frantic touches. He may have long since sworn off the days of fightin’ and gettin’ himself in trouble ~~for the most part~~ , but he’ll still slip right back into old ways if it means avenging your honor. And avenge you he does. You’ve never seen a fury quite like Clyde’s, and it stuns you when you witness it; how someone so calm, so collected can flip like a switch just from seein’ you all scuffed up.

**#6** _\- “I don’t like when you say things like that. To me, you’re perfect.”_

> You’ve been rifling through the closet for the better part of half an hour now, and still, you can’t find anything that you’re wanting to wear. It’s an off day, you’ve been telling yourself as much; just one of those days where you just can’t find a single thing to wear that you feel _good_ in. It’s practically got you on the verge of tears. “Frumpy,” you say with a heavy sigh, eyeing yourself up in the long mirror, twisting your body this way and that to assess how you look in the dress you’ve slipped on. “I look so … _frumpy_. A big, frumpy mess.”

> But, of course, he doesn’t see you that way. He never does. Even on days like today when you think the worst of yourself, he sees you as nothin’ short of perfection, and he’s never been shy of tellin’ you as much. “ **I don’t like when you say things like that** ,” he tells you, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. He turns so you’re both facing the mirror, his eyes meeting yours in the reflection. “ **To me, you’re perfect.** ”

**#10** _\- “I love kissing you.”_

> Clyde loves those pretty lips of yours. He tells you all the time; reckons they’re the perfect shape, the perfect fullness. Loves them an he loves you. But what he loves most is when the two of you are spending a lazy Sunday morning together in bed, all wrapped up in the safety and comfort of the blankets, his body hovered over yours, his lips slanted across your own as his tongue delves into the depths of your mouth. With nowhere to be, the two of you can ~~and usually do~~ stay like this for the better part of your day, just enjoying each other’s company, kissin’ like you’re a pair of giddy high schoolers. “ **I love kissing you** ,” he says when he finally breaks away, lips swollen from just how much he’s been kissin’ you. It’s when you smile up at him, eyes shining with adoration and love, _so much love for him_ , that he feels his heart flutter. How did he get so lucky?


	26. Surprise!

It’s early afternoon, the sun is high in the sky, and the breeze is warm. Clyde had asked you to ‘wear somethin’ real nice’, so you’d chosen your favorite gingham dress, the flowy blue and white patterned fabric being perfect for a day like this. You were under the impression that he’d be taking you somewhere nicer than—

“Clyde,” you say his name softly, brows creasing as if to emphasize the confusion in your voice. “The Duck Tape?” It’s not that you don’t love the bar. _You do_. It’s where you’d met Clyde, after all. But this is not where you thought the two of you would end up.

Twisting the key to turn off the truck’s ignition, he opens his door. “Humor me, would ya? Now get on out,” he replies before throwing in a “please”.

You do as he asks and get out of the truck, closing the door before rounding the front of the vehicle. He meets you there, halfway, as he holds out his right hand for you to take. “ **Close your eyes and give me your hand, I have a surprise for you.** ”

There’s that confused expression of yours again, but even so, the corners of your mouth curve upward into a smile, one that’s met by a wide one of his own. “ **What is it?** ” You love surprises, and he knows all too well.

He huffs out a laugh, his head shaking as his hand curls around your own. “ **It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it?** ”

No, you suppose it wouldn’t. And so you close your eyes, even going a step further and lifting a hand to cover them while he leads you into the bar. You keep your eyes closed until he tells you otherwise. When you finally do open your eyes, you’re greeted by your closest friends and family who collectively yell out a loud ‘ _SURPRISE_ ’ in honor of your birthday.

When you look over to Clyde, he’s grinnin’ from ear to ear, proud he’d been able to pull this off without you managing to catch on at all.


	27. Let Me Walk You Home

A recent transfer to the wild and wonderful West Virginia wilderness, you’ve found yourself frequenting the Duck Tape bar more often than not these last few months. There isn’t much else to do, and considering how much snow you’ve gotten since you’ve moved here, your limited options have cut back significantly. If you had to put a positive spin on things, it would be that you’ve managed to strike up quite the friendship with Clyde Logan, bar owner and operator, and as you later find out, is quite the story teller.

He tells you everything, from his time in Iraq to the time his brother Jimmy got him locked up in juvie thanks to some cockamamie plan’a his. “Cauliflower,” you say slowly, like you’re testing it out, as if saying it will somehow bring unto you the same misfortune it’s brought to the man who’s standing in front of you now.

You can’t help but huff out a laugh at that, a single brow lifted like you can’t believe what it is that he’s telling you. Clyde chuckles, his head nodding as he pours you another round. He’d been keeping an eye on you all night, making sure to pace your drinks out to ensure that you aren’t getting too intoxicated. It doesn’t go unnoticed on your end, and you find that you like that about him; like that he cares enough to make sure that you’re alright even if he hasn’t said as much just yet.

“Hated that word ever since,” he says. “Can’t even look at it neither.”

And _that_. That makes you laugh. “What’s the matter, ‘fraid it’ll bite ya?”

Clyde smiles at that, though you still can’t manage to get more than another chuckle out of him. You wonder if you’ll ever see him laugh the way that he’s witnessing you doing so now. You sure hope you do.

————————————————————–

Once the last of the patrons filters out, leaving just the two of you behind, you slide your now empty glass across the bar to him. “Thanks for the drinks tonight, Clyde.”

He gives you a nod of acknowledgement, his own way of letting you know that he’s heard you. Grabbing the glass from the counter top, he sets it aside with the other dirty glasses that he’ll be cleaning once he locks up. When he glances up, you’re nearly to the door, and it’s then that he pipes up.

“Hope you ain’t plannin’ on drivin’ home,” he says, watching as you turn slowly to face him. Your head shakes, and for a moment he finds himself wondering if someone’s coming to get you. But then, you satisfy that curiosity.

“Walking.” Your house isn’t that far, and the weather’s finally warmed up. “It’s perfect walking weather,” you say, following up your initial response.

Clyde knows good and well that you could make it home with little to no issue, but it wouldn’t sit right with him if he just let you go alone. Not when you’ve got a little drink in your system. “Let me see to it that y’get home safe,” he counters. “I’ll walk with you.”

You’re not sure then if it’s the alcohol that causes the blush to creep up onto your cheeks, or if it’s something else entirely. “It’s okay, you don’t have to …” But, oh, you’re hoping he will.

“ **I’ll feel much better if you let me walk you home** ,” he says, already making a move to grab his keys to the bar so he can lock up.

The corners of your lips curl up into a smile, and your head’s nodding as he exits from behind the bar. When you step outside, he turns to lock the doors before bringing his attention to you. Placing his right hand against your lower back, he leads you down the stairs of the bar’s porch and into the night, ensuring that you make it home safe and sound.


	28. Domestic Fluff

Early summer has swooped into Boone County so subtly that, had you not been so sure of the date, you’d easily mistake the temperatures for somethin’ more akin to September. The window to the bedroom is open, a cool breeze waftin’ in from the surroundin’ mountains, rustling your hair and elicitin’ a shudder that runs itself along your spine.

Clyde’s arms tighten around your middle, pullin’ you impossibly closer to his broad frame beneath the covers. “Time is it,” he mumbles just as he buries his face into your hair to block out the intrusive rays of morning light.

You groan in response because, like him, you have no desire to open your eyes to the assault of the sun’s beam. “Doesn’t matter,” you reply, your face pressin’ into the crook of his neck.

There’s a rumble deep within Clyde’s chest, the sound leavin’ his mouth as a chuckle, his arms tightening further around you, all but squeezin’ the breath outta you. He makes no other retort, content to hold you in the silence of the room, the only sounds bein’ those of the birds outside callin’ to one another.

The Duck Tape, ‘n’ all his other obligations can wait. He’s got you in his arms, ‘n’ right now, that’s the only thing in the world that matters to him.


	29. Rough

All day. That’s how long he’s gone without you; not so much as a text, call….nothin’. You were busy, ‘n’ so was he, but his night at the Duck Tape hadn’t gone all that well, what with spilled drinks ‘n’ a rowdier than normal crowd, he was long since over it and needed to get out those pent up frustrations.

He knew you’d let him. Knew you’d let him use you.

Clothes are scattered haphazardly around the room, down the hall, leadin’ all the way up to the door where you’d greeted him initially upon his return home. Now he’s got you on your back beneath him, the head of his cock proddin’ at the opening of your slick cunt. He’s practically vibratin’ with his need to fuck away this awful day; wants nothin’ more than to get lost in you, the sounds you make ‘n’ how you feel around and under him.

“ **I’d hold onto somethin’ if I were you** , darlin’.”

If Clyde’d had a headboard, you’d have reached for it on command, but seein’ as he lacks one, you reach for him instead. You lift one leg and hitch it up ‘n’ over his hip while your hands grasp at his biceps, keepin’ a firm grip just as he sinks himself deep with one hard, quick thrust of his hips. His movements are relentless, hips snapping into your own with a fervent vigor as he grunts and groans his way towards his release.

The moans ‘n’ screams that fall from your own lips are enough to get him off, and he knows he won’t last long. Not when he’s so pent up like this.

The bed shakes and rattles beneath you, the springs squeaking rapidly in protest of Clyde’s hard thrusts, each one sendin’ you further up the bed until you’re forced to let go with one hand to reach back and press a palm to the wall behind you. His eyes have long since left your face, his gaze having slid down to watch your breasts as they bounce freely in tandem with the movement of him above you.

When he finally does cum, it’s with a loud shout, his hips stilling momentarily after one final snap into your own. Only once the first wave of his orgasm washes over him does he start to thrust again, taking short, shallow strokes to ride it out with you beneath him.

He collapses onto you with hot, heavy breaths, taking a moment to collect himself before he pulls his cock from you, cum dripping down to the sheets below. Now safer, his frustrations finally forgotten, he slides down your body, depositing kisses as he goes. He’s got every intention of getting you off now, this time using his tongue.


	30. Baking With Clyde

A gasp rings out into the small space of the kitchen, the sound quickly followed by a chuckle that emanates from deep within Clyde’s chest. “ _Clyde Logan_ ,” you holler, a hand playfully smackin’ him on the shoulder. “What did I tell you about eatin’ all the berries?!”

“I didn’t,” he counters, only throwin’ in the defensive tone to joke with you. “All’s I had was two.”

“That’s two more than you should have had. Just wait ‘til we’re done.”

Clyde huffs a breath through his nose, a small smile still tuggin’ at his mouth while he finishes chewin’ on the sweet taste of raspberries. He’d offered to help you whip up the tart that you’re workin’ on for tonight’s dinner with Jimmy, Syliva, ‘n’ Sadie…but a lot’a help he’s bein’…

He just keeps on eatin’ everything.

“If I would’ve known you were gonna do this, I would’ve just bought you your own pack of fruit,” you tease with a shake of your head while you concentrate on packing the raw crust into the tin.

When Clyde says nothing, you turn your head to look up at him and…

Well, how can you be mad at him when he’s smilin’ at you like that, and with raspberry juice dribblin’ down past his bottom lip to boot. “You got a little’ somethin’,” you remark, lifting your hand to motion to your own face where the stream of juice is.

“Why don’t y’come clean it off for me?”

There’s a hint of mischief in the look that he gives you; knows you like it somethin’ fierce when he gets playful like this. Quickly, you turn to place the crust in the oven before returning your attention to Clyde. “C’mere,” you reply, lifting a hand up to cup the back of his neck.

He’s quick to comply, leanin’ in only slightly just as you lean up to swipe your tongue along the skin beneath his mouth, licking away the juice just before his own tongue delves into your mouth. The move earns a giddy laugh from you which, in turn, causes a rumble of laughter from him, the two’a you laughin’ ‘n’ kissin’ until the oven timer eventually dings, forcin’ the two’a you apart.


	31. Sub!Clyde

You can feel it, the way Clyde’s hands grip your hips a little tighter, the mechanical fingers of his prosthetic mimickin’ the same grasp of his right hand. There’s the slightest uptick to your mouth, even as you attempt to suppress the smirk that’s begun to form. Your hips rock gently over his, the move so small that only he’s able to register what you’re doin’. Everyone else in the space is none the wiser.

Clyde huffs, the hot puff of air rustling your hair and makin’ you grind down onto him just a little harder, pullin’ a soft whimper from him. There’s family all around out here in the summer heat, the Logan clan havin’ gathered for their usual mid summer get together, but all Clyde can think about is you ‘n’ how good it’d feel to be in you right now.

“Please,” he whispers huskily into your ear.

He doesn’t need to say more. You know _exactly_ what he’s askin’ of you, the singular word only causing your smirk to grow. “That what you want,” you reply, hips teasingly dragging over his at an agonizingly slow pace. “In front’a all these people? In front’a your family? Dirty boy.”

Clyde grunts unto your hair, his own hips pushin’ up into yours subtly, seekin’ our the friction that he so desperately needs. Your eyes scan the yard, takin’ in the others that have gathered. When you’re satisfied that no one’s payin’ a lick of attention to the two of you do your hips rise just enough to allow his hand to slip between the two of you to free his cock from his jeans. You’d forgone underwear for this very reason, and the realization only seems to make Clyde painfully harder when the head of his cock brushes along your slick folds.

He lifts his hips just slightly to push the head into you, your cunt greedily sucking him in further just before you sink yourself down onto him. Clyde presses his mouth against the back of your shoulder to muffle the groan that escapes him, and your cunt clenches in response to the sound and feel of him. You do your best to bite back the moan that threatens to spill from your lips, managing to do so with only the quietest of whimpers.

“Good boy,” you murmur to him when his body stills and his sounds cease. His grip on your hips doesn’t let up, however, not that you mind.

You spend the better part of an hour like this, only giving the gentlest rock of your hips, teasing him with the squeeze of your cunt every now and again until he can take no more; until he’s whimperin’ ‘n’ whinin’ softly into your shoulder, his cock twitchin’ and pulsing deep within you as he cums and cums and cums.


	32. Dom!Clyde

He’s always half hard when he comes home, seein’ you like this, spread out on the bed— _his_ bed—your fingers pinchin’ ‘n’ pullin’ at your nipples while the Vibe that’s pressed into your wet cunt works against both your g-spot and your clit. He finds you like this, back arched ‘n’ jaw slack, moanin’ his name as your hips undulate, the stimulation becomin’ too much.

His cock twitches, fillin’ out more to press against the denim of his jeans when he hears his name fall from your lips. But he can’t let you have this; can’t possibly let you get off without him. Not after he made you promise to be good for him.

“What’d I tell you ‘bout waitin’ for me?” His voice booms in the small space of the trailer, startling you from the near orgasmic bliss, and immediately, your hands fly away from your breasts, pulling the Vibe from your body.

There’s a whimper that sounds at the sudden loss of the stimulation, your chest heaving from it all. “Clyde,” you say, regarding him with wide eyes and parted lips.

His head shakes, lips curling upward into the beginnings of a smirk. “Try again, sugar.”

Your cunt clenches at his words, thighs pressin’ together to ease the throb of your clit. “Daddy,” you say breathily, the singular word now makin’ him harder than ever.

“‘S’right,” he replies huskily, his typical hazel gaze now blown black as he regards you. He takes a step towards you, right hand simultaneously lowerin’ to begin undoing the buckle of his belt. “Stand up. Turn ‘round, ‘n’ bend over. Y’know how I want you.”

You don’t even need to ask what he’s got in mind. You know, of course you do. This is what you’re after, after all, what you crave on nights such as this when it takes him longer than usual to come home to you. With a soft ‘yes, daddy,’ you shift off of the bed and plant your feet onto the floor, turning to bend forward until the palms of your hand rests against the mattress.

The jingle of his belt can be heard, quickly followed by the sound of the friction of leather against denim when he pulls it free from his belt loops. He drops the belt to the floor and pops open the button of his jeans, undoin’ the zipper afterwards, leanin’ the from of his jeans open when he steps up beside you. Clyde runs his right hand over the curve of your ass, givin’ the flesh a good squeeze before he speaks.

“What’d I tell y’bout waitin’ for me, sugar?”

A sigh slips past your lips just before you swallow, your cunt giving yet another involuntary flutter at his tone. “You told me to be good for you. To not touch myself while you were gone. That only you get to do that, get me off.”

“That’s right,” he hums. “Y’know what t’do.”

His hand only disappears for a moment before he swings it forward, palm and fingers connecting with the skin of your ass in a harsh slap, the sound reverberating throughout the room.

“One!” Your voice is shaky, fingers curling into the sheets when his hand disappears again, only to follow repeated motions. You cry out at the sting, but count out all the same. “Two!”

He gives you ten in total before he’s soothin’ you with hushed whispers of how good you’ve been for him, countin’ our each smack like the good little girl he knows that y’are. Clyde’s hand rubs the reddened area to soothe the sting just before he shifts to glide his fingers across your cunt, testin’ to see just how wet you are. He hums in satisfaction when he finds that you’re absolutely soaked, the inside of your thighs sticky with your arousal just from the smack of his hand alone.

“Dirty girl,” he murmurs into your ear when he leans over. “I’ll make a mess’a you yet.”


	33. Jealous

The door to Clyde’s trailer slams closed behind him after the two’a you step inside. Your shoes are already off, ‘n’ he’s workin’ on his, the pout he’d sported on the drive home still front ‘n’ center as he avoids lookin’ at you.

“You know, the guy who kept orderin’ those Heinekens asked me for my number,” you tease, knowin’ just what’s got him so worked up.

Clyde huffs, his back turned to you while he slips off one boot, now workin’ on the other. “Bet y’gave it to ‘im too.”

His words cause your pulse to jump, and it takes every ounce of energy to bite back the smirk that threatens to form at his words. You know right where this is headed. You do this sometimes, the two’a you; purposely makin’ each other jealous all throughout the night just to come home ‘n’ pounce on each other like some feral things.

“Yeah? You mean like how you slipped that pretty little blonde thing yours?”

Clyde turns, the pivot nice ‘n’ slow, so he can face you now that his boots have been discarded. You know he didn’t. He knows you know he wouldn’t, but this is what you like, the two’a you, and that’s got him harder ‘n anythin’ in an instant. He sees it, the way your eyes drop to where his jeans have tented, and his chest heaves in anticipation when your tongue darts out to lick your lips.

“Would’a been awful rude’a me not to. ‘Specially when she was offerin’ me a real good time.”

You take a step closer to him, followed by another until you’re standing close enough to feel the heat radiatin’ off his body. “She’s not the only one who’s offerin’,” you reply, fingers hooking into the belt loops of his black denim jeans.

It never fails to amaze you how quickly he can move. In a matter of seconds he’s got your back pressed up against the door, fingers already workin’ at the button and zipper of your jeans, tuggin’ them down and off your legs in no time flat. He hauls you up into his arms, your legs wrappin’ instinctively around his hips the moment you’re lifted, your own hands now movin’ to make quick work of his jeans, shuckin’ them down just enough to release his already hard cock.

Clyde keeps you pressed up against the door, his right hand movin’ to slip beneath the thin material of your underwear, the tip of his index finger explorin’ the lips of your cunt. “Y’re already so fuckin’ wet. That get y’off, thinkin’ ‘bout slippin’ someone else your number, gettin’ me all riled up, hm?”

He slips his finger into you then, pumping it in ‘n’ out real slow, just enough to tease you. Your head bobs in a nod, ‘n’ his cock twitches at that. “Love it when you get all possessive,” you reply with a breathy moan, eyes closing and head thunking back against the door.

Clyde hums in response, pullin’ his finger from you just long enough to pull the fabric of your underwear aside, linin’ the head of his cock up with your slick heat. “You’re gon’ take all’a me,” he says, like he ain’t givin’ you the choice. Not that you’d want anything else, of course. “Gon’ make you cum on m’ cock, fill y’up nice ‘n’ full, make y’feel me for days.”

There’s no room for an answer. The second he’s done speakin’, his hips thrust forward, cock sinking deep, deep into you as he groans, the sound minglin’ with your loud cry. He takes you like this, rough, fast, makes you remember why you keep comin’ back to him time ‘n’ time again; why you’d never, ever dare slip anyone else your number.


	34. Crush

“Comin’ behind you, Clyde.”

The lightest, feather touch of your fingers against Clyde’s side accompanying your words nearly makes the glass slip from his grasp. He takes a step forward, doin’ his best to play it cool as he gives you the space to move past behind him. Little does he know you’re playin’ cool every bit as much as he is.

The bar’s been closed for a solid ten minutes now, ‘n’ the two’a you have been working diligently to close down shop sooner rather than later, doin’ this little dance behind the bar to get everythin’ cleaned up in preparation for tomorrow’s shift.

You’re busyin’ yourself with removing the empty keg from its spot beneath the bar when you sense him behind you. Slowly, you turn to look over your shoulder, spottin’ him hoverin’ there, his brows creased, lookin’ like he wants to help. “You know,” you start, a slight smirk taking over your features, “for bein’ such a big fella, you’re awful quiet.”

Clyde huffs a laugh at that, givin’ you one of those rare smiles’a his which, of course, makes you smile in return. “Figured you could use a hand.”

Standing upright now that the empty keg’s been disconnected from the tap and pulled from beneath the bar, you dust your hands off and motion to the empty space. “We could do with a new keg, if you’re feelin’ so inclined to be my knight in shining armor,” you tease.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot then, face flushin’ with mild embarrassment before he finds himself noddin’, quickly pivoting on the balls of his feet without so much as a word. It isn’t long until he’s haulin’ a brand new keg in, setting it in the appropriate space where the old one had been.

When he turns, you bend down at the same time that he does to reach for the empty keg, the two’a you lifting your heads to stare at one another, offering muttered apologies and small smiles regardless of the fact that neither of you makes a move to step away. Instead, you use this opportunity to act on a feeling you thought you’d buried a long, long time ago.

You lean in and press your lips to his, allowing your mouth to hover against his own briefly before you pull away. When Clyde opens his eyes, he stares into yours that have widened considerably. Your mouth opens in preparation of offerin’ up an apology, but no words leave your mouth thanks to Clyde leanin’ in to steal a kiss of his own.


	35. Summer Heat

The air in Boone County is humid; the kind’a humid that’s sticky ‘n’ stiflin’, makes your clothes cling to you in an uncomfortable way. Clyde is miserable, what with his long hair already stickin’ to his face and neck as sweat beads his brow, his arm sweatin’ in the space where it’s connected to his prosthetic.

But _you_. You’re lookin’ every bit as radiant as the sun above, and he doesn’t know how you do it. You’re sittin’ above him, straddlin’ his lap with your hands on his stomach, jaw slack and head tipped back while your hips rise and fall over his. Clyde’s got one hand liftin’ the skirt of your yellow sundress up so he can see you take all of him, his prosthetic restin’ comfortably on your thigh, the picnic you two’d started now long forgotten.

It never fails to amaze him, seein’ you like this, so lost in the moment, so full’a him. He gives his hips a quick buck, punches a surprised moan straight from your chest, the sound causin’ his cock to twitch within the tight, warm confines of your cunt. Bunchin’ the fabric of your dress in his hand, he extends his thumb to reach your clit, circlin’ nice ‘n’ quick, the way that y’like, bringin’ you closer ‘n’ closer to your release.

He supposes sufferin’ through the summer heat’s worth it just t’see you comin’ apart on him just like this.


	36. Perfect Girl

The mattress beneath you groans and creaks with each of Clyde’s slow thrusts, your sighs and moans interminglin’ with the metallic sounds to shatter the silence of the trailer. While his hips move, his mouth latches to the side of your neck, heavy breaths huffin’ out through his nose while he sucks bruises into your skin.

Bringin’ one of your hands up to card your fingers through his hair, the other hand slips between your bodies to rub your fingers in small, quick circles to bring yourself closer and closer to release. “So close,” you breathe, his name following with that of yet another moan. Clyde takes the cue, his hips pickin’ up just enough momentum to throw you over the edge, your cunt clenching and flutterin’ around him as you choke out a cry.

His hips stutter at the feel of you wrapped around him, his own orgasm near. Releasin’ another soft grunt, he picks his head up to look down at you, his face flushed and brow beaded with sweat. “Gon’ fill you up,” he murmurs, the words accompanied by a groan. “Y’gonna be good for me? Gonna keep it all in like the good girl I know y’are?”

Your head nods, soft ‘uh huh’s’ fallin’ from your slacked jaw in response. “I’ll be good, so good for you, Clyde. _Please_.”

A low, guttural grown rips through his chest when his orgasm hits him, hips stilling when he gives one final thrust, buryin’ himself deep, deep into you, his cock twitchin’ ‘n’ spillin’ hot, thick ropes of cum into you. He gives shallow strokes then, hips movin’ only fractions while he rides out his release, fuckin’ the cum further into you.

When he finally does ease himself out of you, a small amount of his cum follows, dribbling down to meet the mattress. “That’s m’ good girl,” he praises, fingers dipping to scoop up the cum that’s pooled on the sheets. His fingers slide easily into you, pluggin’ you up for him as he pushes the cum back into you. “Keepin’ it all in just like y’promised. M’ perfect girl.”


	37. Massage

He’s lyin’ on the bed, head tucked up atop his forearms while you straddle his broad back, hands workin’ over taut muscles. A soft grunt sounds when your thumbs press into a particularly sore spot just beneath his shoulder blade. “Sorry,” you murmur, lightening up your touches just enough to cease his wincing.

“‘S’okay,” he replies quietly, his eyes closin’ while he revels in the feel of your hands on his body.

He can feel it, the way your body slinks down his, hips scootin’ down until you’re near his ankles, your hands now moving to glide upward along the backs of his legs. Thumbs and fingers slip beneath the fabric of his shorts to loosen and stretch his hamstring, working out any knots that you may find. He’s so focused on the _where_ that he’s lost all of the _why_.

The higher your hand climbs the more his hips seems to shift and rut gently against the mattress. You notice, of course you do, though you say nothing as you move from one leg to the other, repeating the motions. By the time you’re finished, Clyde’s nothin’ more than whimpers ‘n’ little grunts.

There’s a whine that leaves the back of his throat involuntarily when you pull yourself away from him entirely, though he’s more than pleased by the time he manages to roll himself over. You’re in the midst of pulling off the shirt you wear to bed—his shirt, and fuck, if he doesn’t think his cock can get any harder. Only when you’re undressed do you move to straddle him again, your hands working to make quick work of the button and zipper of his shorts.

Clyde takes short, shallow breaths as he watches you pull his cock free, your hand giving tentative strokes to pull a low groan from the back of his throat. “Fuck, darlin’,” he says through panted breaths when your hand squeezes him in that familiar way that he likes. “Y’need me to—”

“No,” you say with a shake of your head, effectively cuttin’ him off. “No, I’ll be fine.”

He swallows harshly, throat dryin’ up immediately at the thought. “Y’think you can take all’a me?”

A hum sounds, your only response when you move to lift your hips up over his, positioning the head of his cock just so before you begin to lower yourself onto him. It’s a slow process as you inch yourself down onto him, savoring the feel of him as he fills and stretches you. Clyde’s head lifts just slightly to take in the sight of himself disappearin’ into your wet cunt, a guttural groan escapin’ him when he does so.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “That’s m’good girl.”

Your cunt clenches around him at that, pulling another groan from him just as you mirror the sound with a moan of your own when you finally seat yourself fully on him.

It’s slow, methodical, the way that your hips move over his, his hand restin’ against your waist to help you move over him the way you know he likes and the way that feels best to you. It never takes much to get Clyde’s motor runnin’, ‘n’ you can never pass up an opportunity to do so. He knows that, but you’ll hear no complaints from him, especially not when it ends up like this each ‘n’ every time.


	38. Lazy, Hazy, Daze

Empty bottles of beer lie scattered all across the coffee table, some still upright while others have been tipped over onto their sides. Clyde’s seated on the couch with you straddlin’ his lap, your lips moving in tandem with his while your hands grasp at his hair. The metallic fingers of his prosthetic press your body closer to his whilst his other hand roams along your side, gropin’ ‘n’ graspin’ at every inch of you.

It’s late, the rest of the world is sleepin’, but the two of you are more than happy to be up, indulgin’ in the sounds that one pulls from the other, lips moving languidly. There’s an occasional giggle on your part, thanks to the alcohol that’s gone straight to your brain, giving you that familiar dizzying sensation that you get when you’ve had one too many. The sound causes Clyde to grin, ‘n’ soon enough, the two of you are smilin’ and laughin’ into the kiss.

He’s every bit as buzzed as you, ‘n’ you know that this won’t go much further tonight. But you’re content to have this, to be with him in any way that you can. 


	39. If I Were A Worm

“Would you still love me if I were a worm?”

Clyde’s head snaps up from his spot on the back deck’s table, eyein’ you up as you pick a few peppers from the potted plant nearby. “A worm,” he asks incredulously.

“Yes,” you reply, looking over to him with a slight smile curling the corners of your lips. “A worm. Would you still love me then?”

He takes a moment, his lips pursing while he mulls over whether or not you’re bein’ serious. When you don’t give or crack or tell him otherwise, he finally makes his response. “I reckon I’d love you no matter what y’were.”

A full smile stretches your features then, and when you pick the last of the peppers, you make your way over to where he sits, depositing them onto the table before taking a seat on his lap. You lift a hand, dragging the tip of your index finger down the bridge of his nose with a soft hum. “I’d love you too, worm or not.”

He chuckles, tilting his head up to press his lips to the pad of your finger, depositing a kiss there. He’d love you no matter what you are, that much is true, but he’s mighty thankful he’s got you as you are now.


	40. Coding

Clyde squints, doing his best to concentrate on what you’re explaining to him, his eyes focused on the screen whilst you point your finger to the specific code that you’ve just typed up. He huffs, his signature pout making an appearance when he finds that he just doesn’t get it. He simply cannot wrap his mind around what you’re tellin’ him.

He’s not a dumb man by any stretch of the imagination, and you’re well aware of that. But some things are just above his comprehension, this bein’ one of ‘em. “I don’t get it,” he finally says, another huff leavin’ him once he finishes speaking.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, your hand leaving the screen in favor of resting on his forearm. “I don’t expect you to get it right now. It’ll take some time, but I know you’ll get it. Took me a while to learn too.”

Clyde’s gaze flickers over to your face, and the slight embarrassment he’d felt mere moments before quickly melts away. His shoulder slump when the tension leaves him, the pout only barely hanging on. It isn’t until you smile that he mirrors the expression. “’M tryin’ real hard, darlin’. Swear I am.”

Your smile broadens, and you lean up from your chair, just enough to kiss him quickly. “That’s all I could ever ask for,” you reply when you pull away.

He relaxes fully then, an easy smile makin’ an appearance finally. He knows he’ll get the hang of it eventually. With a teacher like you, how could he not?


	41. Slow Dancing In The Kitchen

“I still don’t understand,” you say, feet swingin’ as your legs dangle from over the counter’s edge whilst you sit atop it. “Why not just buy a bag that you can just throw into the microwave. Why do you feel like you’ve got to go makin’ a mess like this?”

Clyde snorts at that, his head shakin’ while he gazes down at the oil that’s heatin’ up in the pan. “Well,” he says with a sigh, “seein’ as the stores ‘round here don’t carry the stove top popcorn no more, I reckon I just do it for the nostalgia of it all.”

“Like when you were growin’ up,” you counter, the words eliciting a nod from Clyde.

“Exactly.” He busies himself with grabbin’ the kernels and dumpin’ them into the pan once the oil’s hot enough, coverin’ it all with a lid once he’s done. He turns to you then, hands reachin’ out towards you to grasp your hip. He’s careful, always so careful not to squeeze too hard with the prosthetic that sits over his left arm, his grip just right as he pulls you down from the counter. “We don’t have but a minute, but I reckon we can still get that slow dance in while we wait.”

You smile at that, stepping closer to close the distance between the two of you, arms wrapping around his waist and your cheek resting against his sternum. His arms wrap around your frame, holding you to him as he begins to sway with you, the two of you dancing to the sound of an invisible song while the popcorn pops on the stove top nearby.

It may be short, but it’s sweet none the less. It’s perfectly Clyde.


	42. Slow Dancing In The Rain

The walks from the Duck Tape to Clyde’s trailer are known to be a hike, what with the trailer bein’ out in the woods ‘n’ all. But that’s never deterred you before, and it sure won’t do so today. You like getting a chance to talk about your day on the walk back, like gettin’ to hear him talk about his in return, the two of you exchanging little anecdotes that make the other laugh or look at the other in disbelief dependin’ on what that day’s story is.

It’s early afternoon when you come to see him, the sunlight peakin’ through the trees, highlighting the leaves that have already changed over colors, their typical green now fiery oranges and yellows with the occasional red thrown in. Clyde had gone in early, wanted to get a count on the inventory before he had to return later to open up. The two’a you are nearly to his trailer, the home just off in the near distance when the heavens above open. There is no warning, no tiny droplets hitting your face, no grey skies above. It’s still as sunny as ever, but still the rain falls, dousing the two of you and soaking through your clothes.

You let out a shriek in surprise, and it’s all Clyde can do but laugh. The sound is deep, hearty, and soon enough, you find that you’re laughing too. When his footsteps halt, yours do as well, and you turn to face him, a hand lifting to brush back the hair that’s plastered to the sides of his face courtesy of the downpour. He’s handsome like this, you realize; more so than usual, his usual fluffy mane now tamped down and slick from the rain as he sports his familiar pout that you’ve come to love so much.

“Dance with me,” you say abruptly over the sound of the rain.

Clyde’s eyes widen at your words, unsure for a moment if he’s heard you correctly. You can see that there are words on the tip of his tongue, his lips parting, moving only slightly but the words don’t come out.

Rather than repeat yourself, you step closer to take his right hand and lift it to rest it against your waist, your left hand setting gently atop your shoulder. Your right hand lifts, hanging in the air while you wait for him to take the hint. When he doesn’t, you coax him.

“Open,” you say, eyeing his mechanical prosthetic with an arched brow before looking back up to his face.

You can hear the way the prosthetic clicks and whirls, the mechanics working to open the hand. When it does, you slip your hand into his. Only then does he draw you closer until you’re pressed against him. He begins to sway with you in his arms, dancing along to nothing but the sound of the rain and a song in his head, his eyes never once leaving your face, taking in this moment for however long it lasts.

He thinks he’d like it to never end.


	43. Picking Outfits

“Y’want me t’wear _that_?” Clyde’s starin’ down at the outfit that you’ve chosen for him at the mall, the clothes all nice and spread out onto the bed for him to get a good look at.

He stands beside you in his usual Bob Seger shirt ‘n’ camo shorts, his eyes honed in on the pair of khaki slacks, brown belt, crisp white button up and maroon sweater. Clyde heaves a sigh, his eyes sweepin’ over to where you stand next to him.

“I know you think you may hate it, but you’ll look _so good_ , I just know it.”

“What’s wrong with what I normally wear,” he counters, the words accompanied by his signature pout.

You tut in response, turning to step in front of him. “Clyde Logan, this was your idea in the first place t’ have us both pick out outfits. You can’t be complainin’ now. Besides, you wore _jeans_ to _court_ , of all places.”

“Y’weren’t even there!”

“No,” your head shakes, “but Mellie told me.”

He scoffs at that, eyes rollin’ back in his head. “’Course she did.”

He makes no more moves to stall, leanin’ in to press a kiss to your forehead before he steps around you to gather up the items in his arms. Clyde steps out of the room to get ready in the bathroom, leavin’ you plenty of time to get changed into the dress he’d bought you from the very same department store. It’s a simple little thing, a light pink sundress with red floral accents dotted across it. Funny how it would match his outfit perfectly and yet neither of you had stolen a single peek at what the other had purchased.

Always on the same wavelength, you ‘n’ Clyde.

By the time he’s done fiddlin’ with his outfit, you’ve already changed into yours, and when he steps back into the room ‘n’ sees you… Well, he’s floored. You smile at him, eyes taking in the sight of him standin’ all awkward and uncomfortable.

“Y’look _real_ good, Clyde.”

He smiles at that, the tips of his ears heatin’ up ‘n’ flushin’ beneath his hair at the compliment. “So d’you.”

“We’re gonna be the best lookin’ couple at this thing,” you say, practically bouncing over to him on the balls of your feet. He chuckles at that, leanin’ down to kiss you just as his arms wrap around you ‘n’ hold you close.

‘Course the two’a you will. You always make sure’a that, after all.


	44. Kisses Before Work

Clyde kisses you every chance that he gets; he kisses you just before the two of you lie down for sleep, when you have to run out to the store, while the two of you are out somewhere. Any and every excuse to bring his lips to yours is reason enough for him t’do it. But if y’were to ask him which is his favorite, he’d undoubtedly tell you that it’s when he leaves for work.

Each and every day it’s the same, you trailin’ him throughout the trailer, givin’ him pecks here ‘n’ there until he gets to the door. The kiss you gift him at the door lingers longer than the others and he lives for it, but the kiss that _really_ gets him is when he’s got one foot out the door. He knows that it’s your favorite too and that makes it all the more worth doin’ it daily.

He keeps the screen door propped open with one foot, the other still in the trailer as he reaches for you with his right hand, fingers splayed across your lower back when he pulls you close. When your arms lift to loop around his neck he bends you back, dippin’ you down as he delivers the kiss. Y’told him once that it felt like bein’ in one of them old black ‘n’ white movies that you love so much; got a giggle outta you. Now he can’t seem t’help himself. He’s got to do it each and every time he leaves for the Duck Tape.


	45. Comfort

By the time that Clyde’s pullin’ up to the trailer followin’ his shift at the bar, he finds that every available light seems to be on within the space, an unusual sight given the time that he gets home after closin’. A scowl forms, the space between his brows creasin’ with concern as he kills the engine of his Grand Prix and hastily makes his exit from the vehicle, long strides carryin’ him up to the front door.

He calls for you the moment tha he steps through the threshold, lockin’ the door behind him and slippin’ out of his shoes before he makes his way to the room where he finds you curled up in bed, tears streaked down your face when you risk a glance in your direction. “Oh, darlin’,” he sighs, crossin’ the room in no time flat.

The mattress dips beneath his weight when he sits down onto it, his hands reachin’ to scoop you up to deposit you in his lap. “’M sorry I was gone for so long. Tell me what’s goin’ on. What happened?”

You sniffle, curling yourself up on him as best you can, your head comin’ to rest against his shoulder as he cradles you to him. The words come out of you so much easier than you’d have thought. You tell him about your day and all the things that could’ve gone wrong that did. In true Clyde fashion, he listens intently, absorbin’ every bit of information you give him. Only when you’ve finished does he speak.

“‘M sorry, darlin’.” His hand sweeps along your back in comforting motions, the touch coupled with his words assuring you that everything’ll be alright. “Today was just a one off,” he says, leanin’ in to begin pressin’ kisses all over your face. He starts with your forehead, your temple, moves onto the tip of your nose, your cheek and chin, and finishes with your lips. “Tomorrow’ll be better. ‘N’ the day after that. ‘N’ the one after that. I know things might seem awful heavy right now, but you’re the strongest person I know. You’ll power through ‘n’ persevere. I believe that, believe in you.”


	46. Trick Or Treat (with Sadie)

Tiny fingers do their best to wrap around much larger ones as Sadie grips Clyde’s hand nice ‘n’ tight while the three of you cross the street together. Bobby Jo’d helped get Sadie all dolled up in a princess costume, but by the time she’d arrived to Clyde’s trailer and had seen you all dressed up in your vampire costume and Clyde in his wolfman get up, she wanted to be every bit as gruesome as the two’a you.

‘ _Can I get some’a them blood drips like you got comin’ from your mouth_ ’ she’d pleaded with those big ol’ eyes’a hers. How could you have resisted?

The second that the three of you step up onto the sidewalk, Sadie releases her hold on Clyde’s hand and darts up towards the nearest house. It makes him nervous, you can tell, seeing Sadie jet off like that without so much as a care in the world. The last thing he wants is for her to take a tumble and get all scraped up.

It’s _your_ turn to reach for him then, slipping your hand into his. Just your touch alone is enough to melt the tension right off of his shoulders, their tautness easing until his shoulders have slumped into their usual relaxed pose. Clyde links his fingers with yours, giving them a quick squeeze in silent thanks. You look up to him, mouth opening, about to tell him how good he looks even when he’s all furry and ridiculous looking in his wolfman costume, but the sound of crunching leaves breaks your line of thought.

“This house has _full sized candy bars_ ,” Sadie calls out, holding up her half full bag of treats as if to show off her proof. “We _have_ to come back here on our way home.”

Clyde chuffs, his gaze sweeping from you to his little niece. “’Cept that y’already went to this house ‘n’ that wouldn’t be fair to the other kids now would it?”

There’s a lull in the conversation while Sadie considers his statement. Soon, her attention shifts from Clyde to you. “Would you wipe off this blood later? I can come back here as a _real_ princess and then they wouldn’t recognize me.”

Clyde snorts and you stifle a laugh, but before you can open your mouth to form a reply, Sadie shoots her shot one last time. “They don’t call it _trick_ or treat for nothin’. I already got my treat, now I gotta do the trick.”


	47. Lost In The Woods

Twilight settles over the hills of Boone County, bathing the forest in golds and purples, signaling the impending arrival of nightfall.

“We better get out of here and quick.” Your head turns to look over your shoulder at Clyde as he follows behind you at a leisurely pace. The two of you’d intended to only stay in the forest surrounding Danville the previous night, but if the two of you don’t manage to make it out before night arrives, your plans may include an unscheduled second night in the woods.

Clyde humphs, his eyes scanning your surroundings. “We’ll be alright. Just keep headin’ North.”

Looking back out ahead of you, your own focus shifts around to look for the moss that’s grown on the sides of the trees. Following the moss North, dead leaves crunching beneath your boots, you slow your steps just enough to allow Clyde to catch up. Overhead, a crow flies, wings fluttering and a caw echoing out above the forest canopy to add to the ominous sensation that’s begun to settle in the longer that you walk.

“How long have we been walking?” Your steps slow to a halt, eyes scanning your surroundings, a hand lifting to point at a nearby boulder, speaking against before Clyde gets the chance. “We passed that already.”

Clyde’s lips purse, and your notice when the silence takes root between you that there are no other sounds now. The forest is quiet, devoid of any other living beings.

Something isn’t right…

“ **I’m calling it** ,” Clyde says, finally breaking the stillness of the silence. “ **We’re lost in the woods**.”

He’s seen it too, the boulder—twice now since you’d tried to find your way out of the forest. He knows these woods like the back of his hand. He should, _does_ , know his way out. This shouldn’t be happening.

The uneasy feeling that sinks to the bottom of your gut now finds its way into Clyde. “Somethin’s wrong,” he says. “None’a this is right.”

You reach for him, taking his hand and lacing your fingers with his. You’ll make it out of here, you just have to keep going…


	48. Love By The Fire

A melted marshmallow is deposited into Clyde’s mouth, the gooey inside of it clingin’ to your finger for dear life, creating a string of marshmallow that runs from Clyde’s lips to your finger. You laugh at the sight, the sound echoin’ out into the cool Autumn night to mix with the chuckle that rumbles deep within Clyde’s chest.

He leans forward to catch your finger with his mouth, hummin’ in satisfaction while his tongue ‘n’ teeth work to suckle at your finger, effectively removing the melted marshmallow from it. Nearby, the newly added log crackles and pops in the heart of the flames of the campfire, sendin’ sparks upward into the night sky.

With your free hand, you reach for the packet of chocolate and pop a piece into your mouth, still watchin’ while Clyde removes the last of the marshmallow from your finger. There’s a shift in the dynamic between the two of you then, Clyde’s dark eyes only seemin’ to grow impossibly darker in the orange glow of the fire. In a matter of seconds, you push yourself off of the log you’d been sitting on in favor of straddling his waist, your mouths meeting in a clash of tongue and teeth. The now melted chocolate that still coats your mouth melds perfectly with the marshmallow flavor that lingers in Clyde’s, envelopin’ the kiss in a burst of flavor.

Your hips roll over his, pulling a moan from both of you while your hands dive down to begin undoing Clyde’s pants. His hands are on you in an instant—the metallic whirl of his prosthetic lockin’ into place and keeping a gentle grip on your waist—continuing to undulate your hips over his over and over again to give you both that much needed friction, his own hips rising up to meet yours to add to the sensation.

You slip away from his grasp then, moving off of him just long enough to rid yourself of your pants, droppin’ them to the ground just as Clyde shoves his own down to the tops of his thighs. It’s almost as if the two’a you are teenagers again, laughing and hurryin’ like you’re gonna get caught if you don’t.

The second that your pants hit the ground, you step out of them ‘n’ return to his lap, Clyde’s left arm holds you against him whilst his right hand skims along your hip. Your mouth returns to his, nibblin’ on his plush bottom lip just as his fingers pull aside your underwear to skim the pads along your already wet lips. He groans into your mouth, cock hard and achin’ between the two’a you, the head flushed and slick with the precum that beads at the tip.

A whimper sounds when he eases two fingers into you, his cock jumpin’ with anticipatory joy in response to how tightly you squeeze his digits. He knows you’ll feel so much better when he’s buried deep, deep within you.

“Clyde.” His name accompanies a breathy moan that floats out into the night air, your hips rockin’ against his hand while his fingers search for that sensitive spot inside. He knows by the way your body seizes up, muscles tensing ‘n’ jaw fallin’ slack, that he’s found it. He presses and caresses the pads of his fingers against the soft inner wall, stroking until you’re holdin’ him tight against you, your hips desperately undulating against him now, a shrill squeal escapin’ you when you finally, finally hit your release.

He feels it then, the gush of warm wet that runs down his hand and forearm ‘n’ drips down onto the pants that he’s pushed down his thighs. Carefully, he pulls his fingers from you, takin’ a moment to gently strum at your clit, your body trembling at the overstimulation.

Keepin’ your underwear pulled aside, he helps to maneauver your hips until his cock is pressin’ against your still flutterin’ cunt. Slowly, he lowers you down onto him, bottomin’ out with a low groan, puffing out a hot breath against the shell of your ear as you continue to hold onto him for dear life. His hands slip around to palm your ass, the cool metal prosthetic of his left hand a welcome contrast the heat of the fire at your back.

Clyde lets you take charge tonight, lets you ride him nice ‘n’ slow, your cunt squeezin’ him tight on nearly every lowerin’ of your hips. It’s long, drawn out, this love makin’, but for Clyde, no amount of time is long enough when he’s with you.


	49. A Sudden Encounter (Sasquatch!Clyde)

The lowering sun lights up the canopy of the forest, setting it ablaze in its light with the hues of red, orange, and yellows all seemingly glowing with warmth, the green of the ferns on the forest floor a stark contrast in color. Clyde’s tall, dark form blends in so effortlessly with the surrounding trees that you nearly miss his presence when you traverse to his cave.

It’s the snap of a twig behind you that gives him away.

You step further into the cave, one hand reaching out to trace your fingers against the exposed stone, smiling to yourself while you listen to the sound of Clyde stepping closer from behind you. It isn’t long until he closes the distance when your steps slow, his arms wrapping around you to pull your back flush against his chest.

Turning in his arms, you wrap your own around him and take a moment to nuzzle your face into hair that covers the broad expanse of his warm chest. There’s a rumble that emanates from deep within Clyde’s chest, the sound comparable to a purr in response to the hum of contentment that you exhale as you breathe him in and hold him close.

There’s a softness to his expression when you tip your head back to look up at him, the corners of his mouth curling slightly to form a fond yet faint smile. He exhales a soft grunt just as he releases you from his grasp, stepping away momentarily to disappear into the darkness of his cave. He’s only gone for a brief moment before reappearing, a homemade bouquet of goldenrods and asters held firmly in his hand, the yellows and purples a striking contrast to the black hair that covers his large frame.

“You remembered,” you whisper in awe at the thoughtfulness, reaching to take the small bouquet from him once it’s offered.

He nods, giving another grunt in response, a pleased expression taking hold of his features when you lift the flowers to your face to inhale their sweet scents. Clyde steps closer, the heat of his body palpable in the small space between the two of you now. Slowly, your hand reaches up to caress his cheek with your palm, fingertips grazing along the edges of his face where bare skin meets a soft, thin smattering of hair.

Clyde leans into the touch, his eyelids fluttering closed just as you lower the flowers to your side, keeping them gripped in your free hand. You take your time, mapping out his face with your fingers, feeling every available piece of skin, fingertips skimming along plush pink lips that part at the touch bestowed upon him courtesy of you.

When he finally opens his eyes again, he finds that you’ve crept closer to him, mere centimetres separating you from one another now. His arms once again encircle your frame and draw you to him until your bodies are pressed together, relishing in the feel of you here in the cave, in his home, with him.

Experimentally, you raise up onto your tiptoes, slowly bringing your face closer to his own; you’re careful, oh so careful not to spook him when your lips finally caress his with the lightest of touches. When he doesn’t pull away you take that as a sign to carry on, pressing your mouth to his more insistently.

It takes him a moment, but soon enough, Clyde is eagerly returning your kiss with an equal fervor, your tongues now dueling for dominance as the two of you embrace in the depths of the cave. The flowers in your hand tumble to the stone and dirt floor just as you bring your hand up to card your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

There’s a look of momentarily confusion when you break away from the kiss and from Clyde’s hold, his brows creasing as he struggles to understand, silently attempting to grasp the situation. But it all clicks into place once you begin to remove your clothes, your gaze never wavering from his face as you discard each individual garment stopping only once you’ve bared yourself completely to him.

You aren’t sure how long passes as he merely stares, his eyes roaming up and down your form, taking in the sight of you before him. Finally, he reaches for you, his hand roaming along every dip and curve of your body, taking his time to map your body just as you’d done with his face. It’s endearing how softly he touches you, and soon enough, he’s pulling you back to him before lowering you down to the cave’s floor, his body hovering over your own just as his mouth slots over yours in yet another kiss.

Clyde rests keeps himself propped up on his left forearm, holding his weight up and off of you as his other hand reaches to take his cock in hand, positioning himself at your already slick cunt. He shifts his hips experimentally, the head of his cock pushing slowly into you.

He takes his time, inching into you, his eyes watching your face intently for any signs of distress; but the sting and stretch of him is a welcomed and momentary discomfort that is quickly replaced by nothing but bliss. Your cunt squeezes him in response to being so fully, the sudden sensation causing his hips to buck forward and press into yours, bottoming out with a groan.

Your back arches up, hands reaching to take purchase on his shoulders, fingers pressing into the hair there as you moan out into the cave, the sound reverberating against the stone walls to mingle with the groan that Clyde has just emitted.

Of all the ways to spend your birthday, this is by far the best and most surreal experience to date. This is only your first time with the wall of muscle above you and yet you’re certain that you’ll never want another.

Clyde is a friend, a protector, provider, and now a lover.

With him, you’ll never want for anything ever again.


	50. Power Outage

You’d heard them, the thumps and the bumps that seemed to come from both outside and within the trailer that you share with Clyde. It’d started just before the power had gone out, and it only seemed to progressively get worse as the night wore on. You couldn’t call Clyde thanks to the lack of charge in your phone—he _had_ been warnin’ you to keep it charged, and it’s only then that you’d realized you should have heeded his warning.

It’s late when he gets home, pullin’ up into the gravel drive and parking in his usual spot just beside your car. His brows crease when he looks to the darkened trailer, the blue glow of the television he typically finds you fast asleep in front is replaced by a flickering orange. Clyde’s heart thumps wildly against his rib cage while his mind races at the reasonin’ for the sudden change.

There hadn’t been a power outage at the Duck Tape, after all.

Fling into himself out of the truck, he digs his keys out of his pocket whilst he strifes quickly up along the worn path that leads to the trailer’s stairs.

Another thump, thump, thump can be heard from outside, and the sound causes you to draw into yourself; knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped securely around them to hug them close as you sit among the candles, the only source of light in the home.

It’s only now that your mind flits to the .40 S&W that sits tucked away in a secure lockbox in the closet. Clyde has told you once upon a time to use it on anyone who’d dare break in. _Of course_ this would be the moment you needed it most and yet you’d forgotten all about, having succumb to your fears rather than reason.

The door handle jiggles, eliciting a whimper from the back of your throat. This is it, you think to yourself. This is how it all ends. Not in some blaze of glory, not in some romantic happy ending, but cowerin’ among candles in the middle of a trailer that’s tucked away in the woods.

Clyde pushes the door open once he finally manages to get it unlocked, immediately greeted by a sight he hadn’t expected. “Darlin’,” he asks, confusion lacing his voice.

A reliever sob escapes you as you bolt upright, careful to avoid knocking down any of the candles when you rush towards him, vacating the safety of the light for the comfort of his arms. Clyde holds you close, murmurin’ in your ear that you’re safe, that everything’s alright ‘n’ he’s got you.

“The power went out,” you sniffle, words muffled when you bury your face in the warmth of his chest. “I hear all these noises. It was like people bangin’ on the trailer or somethin’.”

Clyde’s hold tightens on you, and he deposits a kiss to the crown of your head. “‘S’alright, darlin’, ain’t no one out there. I’m here now. I’ll keep y’safe.”

The last bit of tension held in your muscles evaporates, your body sagging against his. You know the words are true, Clyde _will_ keep you safe. He always has. When he’s around, there ain’t ever a thing in this world for you to be scared of.


	51. Physical Therapist!Clyde

“C’mon,” Clyde urges, watching as you struggle with your final stretch of today’s session. “Y’got this. Just got’a do two more stretches with the exercise band ‘n’ you can call it quits for the week.”

“I thought this was supposed to get easier,” you quip in return, simultaneously knocking out one of the final two stretches that stands in your way between you and your weekend.

Clyde huffs a laugh, his head nodding in response. “It will. You’re only just gettin’ started, don’t forget. You’ve got a long ways to go yet but you’ll get there.”

You adjust the elastic band around your foot, settling it in the spot where it needs to be before you sit back upright, holding onto the ends though you don’t finish your last stretch just yet. “You got any plans for the weekend,” you ask, hoping to sound nonchalant about it.

He shakes his head, shoulders risin’ ‘n’ fallin’ in response. “No. Can’t say as I do.”

Inhaling a steadying breath, you opt to pull the proverbial trigger and ask the question that’s been on your mind ever since you’d first stepped into this place and laid eyes on him. “Would you maybe want to grab some dinner tomorrow? If, you know, if nothin’ comes up.”

There’s an unmistakable twinkle in Clyde’s eyes, and you can see the way his mouth hitches upward just slightly. “I reckon I can squeeze y’in this weekend, provided y’finish your final stretch,” he teases.

The two of you smile at one another, breathy laughter escaping you as you finish your last stretch of the week. “It’s a date.”


	52. Cult Leader!Clyde

The squeak of a marker’s felted tip against the laminated page of a calendar can be heard as you cross off yet another day. “Another day closer,” you lament.

A large hand settles atop your shoulder, fingers giving a gentle, but reassuring squeeze. Your head turns, tilting downward just enough to softly graze your cheek against the weathered skin. He can feel it, the warm puff of air against his fingertips when you exhale your sigh. Clyde gives another squeeze at that.

“Don’t be scared,” he says, his voice too loud, too deep even in his attempt to whisper his reassurances to you. “You know y’don’t need t’be scared.”

Capping the marker, you turn to face him, the hand on your shoulder now moving to cup the side of your face, his palm warm against your cheek. Your eyelids flutter closed as you lean into the touch, and you release yet another soft sigh. “Did you mean it,” you ask when you open your eyes to peer up into his hazel eyes. “When you said we’d ascend, did you mean it?”

“‘Course I did.” Clyde’s thumb sweeps along your cheekbone. “D’you really think I’d lie t’you?”

Your response is immediate, your head shaking from side to side vehemently. “No. No, I know better. I know you never would. Not to me. Not to us.” Not to the congregation. Surely not to them. Least of all you. He cherished you far more than the others. He’d told you as much plenty of times; whispered it into your ear more times than you can count, told you how you’d been chosen just as he had. That you staying at his side would be the only way to assure that you, Clyde, and the others would ascend.

It’s the only way. Leaving him would ensure damnation for the entire congregation.


	53. Bakery AU

There’d been rumblings at the bar about a new bakery in town, Earl had said the tasty treats were ‘otherworldly’, a sentiment that’d made Clyde snort in disbelief. There ain’t ever been a treat he’s had outside’a the Ben Ellen donuts at the state fair that he’s ever considered to come close to otherworldly, ‘n’ part’a him thinks that’s on account of them only bein’ available at the fair ‘n’ no other time.

But here he is, standing’ outside of your shop, peekin’ in through the window to watch as you fill up the display cases full of baked goods. He’s early thanks to the fact that he’s stayed up well past the bar’s closin’ time, wantin’ to ensure that he doesn’t sleep through another day of your shop bein’ open. You offer him a smile when you spot him outside on the other side of the glass, and wiping your hands off on your apron, you make your way to the door to open up just a little early.

Flustered by the mere smile thrown his way, Clyde stumbles over his words when you throw a ‘good morning’ his way. “Oh, uh, mornin’. Y’didn’t h-have t’ open up early on account’a me.” He swallows harshly, his mouth suddenly a lot drier than it had been a moment prior.

You laugh, the sound melodic ‘n’ for a moment, Clyde wonders if angels walkin’ around on Earth is a thing of truth. “Don’t be silly. It’s only a few extra minutes,” you reply, wavin’ him off. “C’mon in, have a look and let me know what you want when you’re ready.”

Clyde doesn’t even need to step on through the threshold of the door to know that what he wants ain’t on the menu.


	54. Kisses By the Fire

Wood crackles and pops, sending orange sparks flying upwards to join the flames that lick high into the fireplace. Clyde’s arm tightens its hold on you when you snuggle closer into him, the two of you enjoying one another’s warmth just as you do so with the fire that burns so brightly in front of you.

“Y’comfy enough,” he asks as you busy yourself with ensuring the knitted blanket is draped across you both.

Your head nods quickly, your movements only ceasing once you’re satisfied that the two of you are covered and warm by the blanket. “I am now.”

Clyde hums appreciatively and turns his head with the intention of depositing a kiss to your forehead, but at the last moment you tip your head back and offer him your lips instead. He’s all too glad to comply, his head dipping just a little more to press his lips to your own.

He’d promised you warm cider to help you enjoy the evening, but perhaps that can wait a little longer. You just want as much time with him like this as you can get.


End file.
